As the Pendulum Swings
by SomethingboutRosey
Summary: Post HBP: What happens when enemies are forced to join together to defeat the greatest evil? HPDM friendship, but no slash, sorry!
1. The End of the Beginning

**A/N**: Most of this first chapter is taken from chapter 27 (The Lightning Struck Tower) of HP and the HBP, only modified so it is read from Draco's point of view. A few parts are word for word, mainly the dialogue, but I tried to avoid that. Please don't sue me.  Each chapter will be read from a different character's point of view. This is my first fic, so give me some slack. Read on!

**Chapter 1**

**The End of the Beginning**

"Someone's dead," said Draco. He felt his throat tighten. "One of your people…I don't know who, it was dark…I stepped over the body….I was supposed to be waiting up here when you go back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way…."

"Yes, they do that," said Dumbledore.

Draco stood, frozen, his wand remained pointed straight at Dumbledore. _Do it...come on..._he urged himself. He had not given up his entire year to get this far just to give up…

But suddenly there came a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever, jerking Draco from his silent motivation; it sounded as though the Death Eaters had finally made it through to the spiral staircase. He strained his ears as the noises grew louder, desperate to focus on anything but his current situation.

"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. Draco was forced to refocus on him. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"_My_ options!" Draco said loudly. "I'm standing here with a wand – I'm about to kill you --" His mind screamed in protest.

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

He knew Dumbledore was right.

"I haven't got any options!" shouted Draco wildly, his voice cracking involuntarily. He felt as though he was being pressed in on from every side. He felt his face drain whatever color was left of it. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your situation," said Dumbledore. Hot anger surfaced in Draco's chest. Dumbledore had no idea, he did not know how it was to live your life with a growing threat hovering over you; murder or be murdered. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized that I suspected you."

Draco felt himself wince at the sound of the name.

"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, is case he used Legilimancy against you," continued Dumbledore. "But now at least we can speak plainly to each other….No harm has been, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived….I can help you Draco."

"No you can't," said Draco, his voice sounding very weak. Just then he noticed that his wand hand was shaking very badly indeed. "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

So why wasn't he doing it? _Come on…you have to...you have to or you'll die, you'll bring death on your whole family..._Draco tightened his grip on his wand, which was slippery with sweat from his shaking hand.

"He cannot kill you if you are already dead. Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you could possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Nobody would be surprised that you had died in your attempt to kill me – forgive me, but Lord Voldemort probably expects is. Nor would the Death Easters be surprised that we had captured and killed your mother – it is what they would do themselves, after all. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban...When the time comes, we can protect him, too. Come over to the right side, Draco...you are not a killer..."

Draco stared at Dumbledore, his head swimming, his mind racing with thoughts. Come over to the right side? Draco tried to imagine becoming a part of the Order of the Phoenix, only to find that he could not picture it. He could not picture running from the Dark Lord for the rest of his life. He gazed at the situation laid before him, the task he had been set to do.

"But I got this far, didn't I?" he said slowly. "They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here...and you're in my power...I'm the one with the wand...You're at my mercy..." His heart thundered in his chest. _That's right; he's at your mercy...so do something...do something..._

"No, Draco," said Dumbledore quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours that matters now."

Draco felt his jaw drop, staring at that old face, the face he had known for so many years, the face that was supposed to have died at Draco's wand moments before. His wand hand was trembling worse than ever, he felt as though he muscles were going to give out at any moment –

But suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs, and a second later Draco was buffeted to the side as four people in black robes burst through the door onto the ramparts. He watched as they entered; each training his or her wand on Dumbledore. One Draco knew only by face, and the two siblings: Amycus and Alecto; but his insides gave a horrible lurch as he saw who else had joined the party. It was Fenrir Greyback, his long, unnaturally pointed teeth bared in a grotesque grin and Draco suddenly began to feel nauseous as one of the men Death Eaters began to speak in an excited tone.

"Dumbledore cornered! Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!"

Draco felt his stomach squirm with guilt and fear. He needed to do it, he needed to kill Dumbledore, and he needed to do it soon.

But did he?

His mind ran over Dumbledore's previous words, over and over again. _We can hide you more completely than you could ever imagine...come over to the right side, Draco...you are not a killer..._He felt the blood pounding in his head, as he tried to work out what to do. If he ran now, he would surely be killed and so would Dumbledore. No, there was no way. _I haven't been given a choice_, he thought. _I've been given an ultimatum...I have to murder to save my family...to save myself..._

Dumbledore's words brought him back to the present situation.

"Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual...You have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right" said Fenrir Greyback. "Shocks you that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"

"Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little," said Dumbledore. "And, yes, I am a little shocked that Draco invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live..."

Draco's stomach gave another uncomfortable twist as he found his voice again.

"I didn't," he breathed. He avoided Fenrir's gaze, out of fear that he might vomit everywhere if he looked up. "I didn't know he was going to come --"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasped Greyback. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out...Delicious, delicious...I could do you for afters, Dumbledore."

"No," said the fourth Death Eater sharply. He had a heavy, brutal-looking face. "We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly."

To his surprise, Draco felt the grip on his wand loosen. He stared into Dumbledore's pale face, terror rising inside of him. It was now or never. It was now...or death. His throat and mouth felt as though they were coated with sand. He did not know if he would even be able to utter the curse if he wanted to. And he knew that if he even opened his mouth he would vomit before anything else could happen. The back of his throat burned.

"Always the same weren't yeh, Dumby, talking and doing nothing, nothing. I don't even know why the Dark Lord's bothering to kill yer! Come on Draco, do it!"

Noises sounded from behind them on the staircase.

"Now, Draco, quickly!"

Draco heard these voices reverberate distantly around him, as though they were coming from far away. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt as though he was about to collapse. It was all he could do to keep on his feet. His wand hand shook so badly that he could not even aim properly.

"Draco, do it or stand aside so one of us --" screeched Alecto, but at the precise moment, the door to the ramparts burst open once more. Draco turned his head and saw Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene. Draco felt Snape's eyes linger on him, penetrating straight into his mind. He knew that Snape could sense his fear, his indecisiveness.

"We've got a problem, Snape. The boy doesn't seem able --"

"Severus..."

Draco swiveled his head to look down at Dumbledore, who had slid so far down the rampart wall that he was almost on the ground. His face looked sallow and pale, his voice soft and hoarse as he spoke Snape's name again.

"Severus...please..."

Draco's head, it felt, was threatening to burst open. Every beat of his heart made the scene swim before his eyes. He was horrified. How had he gotten himself here? The feeling of triumph at successfully getting the Death Eaters into the castle and having Dumbledore at his mercy had long since left him. Now all he felt was terror rising inside of him. He looked around at Snape. There was revulsion and hatred etched in every harsh line of his face as he gazed down at Dumbledore. And then he realized. Dumbledore was going to die, whether he, Draco, killed him or not. He clutched his stomach as he realized what was going to happen next. Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape's wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest. Dumbledore was blasted into the air and for a split second he seemed to hand suspended beneath the shimmering Dark Mark, and then fell slowly backward, like a great rag doll, over the battlements and out of sight.

_He was dead...Dumbledore was dead..._Draco's head was spinning and he could not see straight...everything around him was in a haze, it seemed. Students stared at him as he sprinted past, down the corridors, leaping down staircases four steps at a time. Their stunned and scared voices came and went quickly as he dashed past.

Finally he reached the entrance hall, and there were the great oak front doors, still wide open in Snape's wake. Draco hurtled out of the doors, not stopping to look around him. He saw the entrance gates about sixty yards in front of him, beyond which he could Disapparate. He had to make it. He felt shouting behind him, and a curse grazed his cheek, missing him by inches. He heard Potter's voice ringing out behind him. Suddenly, Draco spun around and saw his black-haired counterpart aiming curses at Snape, each of which Snape fended off almost lazily.

"_Stupefy!"_

Draco watched as the jet of red light soared past Snape's head. Snape pulled out his wand, and before he turned to face Potter, shouted, _"Run, Draco!"_

For a split second Draco gazed, entranced at the scene before him. There were screams and yells coming from all sides, he could hear Hagrid roaring, his cottage up in flames. There was blood smeared on the distant flagstones up near the oak doors. Curses were flying in every direction. It was then that he turned and sprinted the remaining 20 yards between himself and the iron gates.

As soon as he passed them, he promptly keeled over, his knees smashing hard into the ground, and vomited onto the cobbled street, shaking uncontrollably. His lank, blond hair hung in front of his eyes. He knew he had to Disapparate **now**, he was going to be caught if he didn't get away immediately, but he couldn't even bring himself to his feet. He heard distant echoes of violent yells from Snape coming from the grounds.

Draco did not know how long his remained on his knees, taking deep breaths and staring down at the street, willing himself not to vomit again. It might have been a few short minutes, or it might have been hours, he did not know. His brain, it seemed, was not cooperating with him.

But suddenly he felt a hand grab him roughly by the collar of his robes and pull him forcefully upward. Immediately he felt the familiar sensation of Disapparation pressing in all around him, darkness enveloping him completely.

Seconds later, however, he felt his feet connect, hard, with the ground again. His knees buckled under him, but the hand had maintained its firm hold on his robes, and he was guided slowly over to a familiar red armchair and eased gently into it. He used what strength was left in him to open his eyes halfway and gaze blearily around him.

He was back in his own comfortable sitting room. Various squashy looking armchairs were placed in the room, along with a sofa of the same nature, and several bookcases. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate next to him; he could feel the heat from the flames.

"_Oh, thank_ _God_!" came a voice from the kitchen. "Severus, is he alright! What happened? _Thank God_ you're both alive!"

"It's alright, Narcissa...Calm yourself. Draco is fine; it just seems he's a bit shaken."

Draco saw his mother swoop down upon him, tears glistening in her pale eyes and she threw her arms around him and began to sob into his shoulder. He felt her tears seep through his robes and his sweater. He did not have the strength to return her embrace, or tell her he was alright.

He then saw her face again as she relinquished her hold on him, putting her hands on his cheeks, and looking into his eyes.

"Are you okay, baby? Please speak to me Draco, please, are you alright?" Her tone was desperate and high-pitched, and Draco could feel her hands trembling on his face. He tried to swallow, he wanted to tell her he was going to be okay, but he could do neither. All he could do was open and close his mouth feebly, feeling that uncomfortable burning at the back of his throat again. Suddenly, he leaned over and vomited a second time over the side of the armchair onto the hardwood floor. He heard his mother shriek loudly and begin to cry again.

"He's sick! He's sick, Severus – Draco, Draco talk to me!"

"Give the boy some air, Narcissa...he will be fine. As I said, he's just shaken up."

Draco closed his eyes and let himself sink all the way back into the armchair. He was feeling slightly better now that he had emptied all the contents of his stomach, but his head was still pounding horribly with each beat of his heart. He could not have moved a muscle to save his life. He heard Snape conversing with his mother a few feet from where he sat. His mother's voice was a shaky, worried simper; Snape's was masked with false confidence and a soothing tone. But Draco could hear the disquiet in Snape's voice.

"What happened Severus? Did everything go as planned?"

"Not quite..." Snape paused for a moment, apparently to collect his thoughts. "Draco did not succeed in murdering Dumbledore...I was forced to complete the task for him."

Draco heard his mother moan feebly.

"But...what will the Dark Lord do now? Is going to murder us, Severus? Is he going to kill my baby boy?" Her voice was shaking.

"I do not know, Narcissa. I do not know what the Dark Lord's plans are, but I advise you to take Draco and get yourselves away from this place. Make sure you escape to somewhere he cannot find you. I will cover for you. I will find out what his plans are, whether he is willing to spare your lives." Snape took a deep, steadying breath and continued. "If he is, I will contact you; tell you it is safe to return. If he is not...then I will not make contact with you, I cannot risk it."

There was a long silence. Draco did not open his eyes, but tried to let Snape's words sink into his brain. But he could not comprehend fully the impact of this plan; his mind did not seem to be capable. It seemed the words went into one ear and out of the other. The pain in his head was worsening.

"Come now, Draco..." Snape's voice was much nearer now. "Come...you must get up...you must go with your mother, you both need to leave here."

Draco did not understand fully, his mind was so clouded; all his could do was shake his head so feebly, he did not even know whether Snape saw it or not.

"Please, Severus, can't he rest first? Look at the state of him –"

"Listen, Narcissa, I must leave very soon, the Dark Lord is expecting me..." He paused briefly. "But if you value Draco's life, I suggest you take him away from here. Now."

There was another silence. Draco felt two hands under his arms, lifting him up onto his feet. He felt his legs trembling precariously under his weight and opened his eyes. Snape was standing beside him, looking concerned. He could only see the back of his mother; she was hurriedly shoving things into a large knapsack. She was the last thing he saw before heavy darkness pressed in upon him. He felt his legs give out underneath him as the consciousness was wiped from his body.

**A/N**: I hope you liked it! Read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly.


	2. Back to the Burrow Again

A/N: The second chapter...that's all I have to say.

**Chapter 2**

**Back to the Burrow...Again**

Brilliant yellow sunshine poured in through the windows of the Hogwarts Express. The whistle of the train blew shrilly as it started to move along its tracks. Harry Potter pressed his forehead to the window, looking out of it at the massive mountains and the green forest. And at the great, towering castle that was Hogwarts. Its many turrets and towers seemed to wink at him in the bright sunlight. As the train turned a corner and Hogwarts began to drift out of sight, Harry could not help but think that this would most likely be the very last time he would ever see the place that he had called home for six years.

Harry shifted his gaze from the vanishing castle, and gazed around the compartment. Directly across from him sat Hermione Granger, whose legs were underneath her as she sat, staring down at her lap but not really seeing, her amber eyes full of emotion. To her left sat Ron Weasley, a lanky, brilliantly red-haired teenager with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, looking blankly across the compartment and out of the window. Harry turned his gaze to his right and set his eyes upon the youngest of the Weasley children, Ginny. Her long hair, the exact color of her aforementioned older brother, was cascading down her back gracefully, and a few locks hung in her eyes. She was staring at a spot on the ceiling, her body swaying back and forth with the movements of the train. Harry felt a dull pain in his chest and swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Ginny. Instead he focused down on his hands which had balled themselves into fists in an effort to stop the burning that had started in the corners of his eyes, the burning that he felt every time he looked at her.

The entire train ride was silent, which only seemed right. Harry knew that everyone needed time to think, including himself. His head swirled with thoughts and images. His hand had slipped itself unconsciously inside the pocket of his jeans and grasped the hard piece of gold that lay there, as it so often did lately. He fingered the locket carefully, as he had done so many times already. Initials suddenly floated unwillingly across his mind..._R.A.B_...His head seemed to spin faster, thinking of all of the possibilities, but coming up empty. It was the first time that that note had come into mind since Dumbledore's murder. _Yes_, thought Harry acidly. _Dumbledore's murder_. He placed the locket back into his pocket and felt a scowl don itself on his face. He had realized that it was not just a death, as so many people referred to it as being, it was a murder. It seemed that everyone was trying to desperately to avoid to real truth, to let this event pass as though it was some sort of accident, preferring to try and forget about the fact that it was, in reality, a cold-blooded murder.

After a long while of this unusual silence, the train whistle finally sounded again as it began to slow. Harry stood, turned and dragged his trunk down from the luggage rack with one hand, and grasping Hedwig's cage with the other. He watched the others do the same, and followed them out of the compartment and off of the train.

The mood on platform 9 ¾ was extremely somber. Every voice had taken on a remorseful sort of tone as parents ushered their children away from the train; many of whom were never to be seen on the platform again. Harry caught sight of a kindly-looking woman with hair that matched her children's; she was quickly bustling over to them, a tall, thin balding man hurrying along in her wake. As she reached them, Harry noticed a forced smile plastered on her face.

"Ron, Ginny, Harry, Hermione! Thank goodness you're all okay...I've been worried out of my mind, you have no idea. These horrors are becoming more and more real with each day, I don't know what I would have done if any of you had been..." her voice trailed off and she took each one of them in turn to squeeze them tightly, wiping tears away from her eyes as she went. "Well," she said as soon as she had composed herself. "The Ministry's sent a car and a couple of Aurors to accompany us home...of course now they're wanting to do anything they can to help after everything that's happened...started hounding us as soon as we brought Bill back from Hogwarts...Well, come along now, you lot."

The four of them followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley out of the station to a large black town car flanked by two men that Harry had never seen before. Their luggage fit easily into the trunk of the car, and the men ushered everyone inside. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat in the front next to the driver and the four teenagers fit comfortably in the back seat. The car was enormous, compared to its outward appearance.

The car ride was short, as traffic seemed to move aside for them as they sped down the street. As soon as the car stopped, they all piled out quickly. Mr. Weasley flicked his wand toward the trunk, and the luggage filed out one by one, and trailed in a neat line behind Mr. Weasley's wand.

"Inside, inside everyone," said Mrs. Weasley, ushering them along. "Bill is here already, he's resting of course; Charlie, Fred and George will be here shortly."

The Burrow looked the same as ever: full to the brim with oddities and informalities. A mop dragged itself along the kitchen floor and a rather old looking feather duster was flapping around the room of its own accord. They passed through the kitchen into the sitting room, where it seemed books were stacked three deep everywhere and the furniture was mismatched and worn out, but comfortable looking. The mantle was weathered and faded, the crackling, dying embers of a fire lay beneath it, evidently from a fire the night before that no one had bothered to put out.

Mr. Weasley, who had not said a single word to anyone besides an exhausted hello when they had first met at King's Cross, led the luggage into the middle of the sitting room and immediately took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He seemed to lack most of his usual energy and spunk. Mrs. Weasley looked at him with concern.

"Arthur's been working nonstop ever since...you know," she said softly. "The Ministry's in complete chaos. It doesn't matter what department you're in now, everyone is just doing whatever they can. Poor Mafalda Hopkirk had a nervous breakdown the other day; they had to take her straight to St. Mungo's, I still don't know if she's been put completely right yet...Well, you lot had better take your stuff up, I expect the others will be arriving soon."

They obeyed Mrs. Weasley, grabbing their trunks and making their way up the rickety, zigzagging staircase. Hermione and Ginny stepped off at the third landing; Hermione was sleeping in Ginny's room for the time being, as she was only staying for a couple of days before she would go back to her parent's house to collect the rest of her things and move out for good. As Harry and Ron climbed the stairs all the way up to the very top, Harry knew that he had to do the same. Dumbledore had wanted him to visit the Dursley's for one last time before he left. His birthday was in a few weeks; he figured that he would go after he turned seventeen, that way he could legally pack up his things with magic and bid the Dursleys a final farewell.

This thought weighed heavily on Harry's mind as they finally reached Ron's room. He was going to be staying with Ron, as the house would be packed to full capacity when everyone arrived. Fred and George would be staying in their own room, Bill had a bed made up for him in Percy's old bedroom, and Charlie would not be staying the nights: he had his own house to go back to.

Ron's room looked the same as the first time Harry had ever set foot in it. The walls were plastered with posters of seven riders on brooms, all dressed in bright orange: the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. Though, a few of the posters looked as though they had been ripped down in frustration, and then Spellotaped haphazardly back onto the wall. The only difference was that a small twin bed had been conjured next to the wall near the door, making the room appear even smaller than it really was. Harry set his trunk near this bed, assuming that it was for his use.

"Mum didn't want you to have to kip on a camp bed again," said Ron, noticing Harry, who had sat down on the bed. He opened his own trunk, and began chucking things, pell-mell into the tiny closet. "So she set that up for you. Sorry, mate, it's a bit cramped, but I expect we'll have to manage..."

"It's perfect," said Harry, who swung his legs up onto the bed and laid his head onto the feather pillow. He felt a rush of gratitude toward Mrs. Weasley; the camp bed that he usually slept on while he was at the Weasley's was none too comfortable, but this bed was soft and warm and...He had to sit up to keep himself from falling asleep right then. Then it hit him how thoroughly exhausted he felt; he had not slept the night before, and his head felt very heavy as it was crammed with so many worrying thoughts.

Harry opened his eyes and saw Ron looking at him, a worried expression on his face, as it seemed everyone was doing these days. But as soon as he had seen that Harry had opened his eyes, Ron looked away and began digging busily in his trunk again.

"I'm alright, Ron," said Harry, and Ron paused to look at him, a pair of mismatched socks suspended in his hand. "Just tired."

A skeptical look crossed Ron's long, thin face. "Really?"

"Yea, really," Harry lied.

He watched Ron go back to emptying things from his trunk. Harry didn't like lying to his best friend, but there was no possible way that he could try and explain all of his feelings. At least not now, anyway.

"Girls, boys!" came a shrill voice from downstairs. "Fred and George have arrived!"

Ron closed his closet door with difficulty, heading out of the door, and Harry followed. As they headed down the stairs, a door to their right burst open and Hermione and Ginny came out of Ginny's room and got onto the staircase ahead of them. As they headed into the sitting room, a voice came from the kitchen.

"In here, we're in here!"

Hermione, Ginny, and Ron preceded Harry into the kitchen. As he walked through the door, he saw the twins wearing black robes of an expensive, silky-looking material. They each smiled and waved, but Harry noticed that some of the youth and energy that he had come to expect from the twins was missing.

"Well, sit down, sit down everyone, I'll go and get Bill while you all wait for Charlie, then we can all have a spot of lunch. I expect you must be famished." Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the kitchen, and they all pulled up chairs at the large, rickety wooden table that was situated in the middle of the kitchen.

"So," said George, leaning forward across the table. "All right, Harry, Hermione?" he asked in a somber tone.

Harry nodded and tried to smile, but found that he couldn't.

"Oh yes," said Hermione, managing to beam a little too brightly. "Gorgeous day, isn't it? How's business going?" Harry could tell she was trying her best to keep the conversation light, and he was grateful for that.

"Booming," said Fred, grinning at her.

"Yeah, we really have more money than we know what to do with," said George. "We were thinking about buying Ginny and Ron new brooms, Nimbuses, but then we didn't know when you'd use them, now that you won't be..." He trailed off, looking uncomfortable, and they were all left with an awkward silence which was something Harry had never heard in the Weasley's kitchen.

Fortunately the silence was broken quickly as a loud _crack_ came from outside the door followed by Charlie Weasley who came through it, smiling at all of them. He stood near the end of the table and looked down at them.

Charlie looked more weathered than the last time Harry had seen him. He had several large, shiny burns on his arms and one across the bridge of his nose. His red hair was tousled, and he looked slightly windswept.

"Hello, everyone. Harry, Hermione." Harry managed a smile this time. "Where are mum and dad?" Harry saw him glance toward the place where Weasley's odd clock usually hung on the wall near the doorway, but it was not there as Mrs. Weasley had taken to carrying it around with her.

"Mum's upstairs fetching Bill," said Ginny. "And I haven't seen dad since we got back from King's Cross...I expect he's upstairs somewhere."

"He didn't look good," said Ron, drumming his fingers nervously on the tabletop.

"Well, thank you, Captain Obvious," said Fred, scowling at Ron. "How do you think you'd look if you hadn't slept, or even stopped working for the last week?"

"I was just saying," said Ron. Just as he was opening his mouth to add something else, Bill came through the kitchen door followed closely by Mr. And Mrs. Weasley.

Bill was looking slightly better than when Harry had seen him at the hospital wing at Hogwarts, but not much. The deep gashes that covered his face had lessened slightly, it seemed, and they were covered with a thick, purple-tinted substance.

The second awkward silence that Harry had ever experienced in the Weasley kitchen occurred then.

"So," said Mrs. Weasley, clasping her hands together. "Shall I cook us all some lunch, then?"

They all began to chatter at once, pretending they hadn't noticed the embarrassed pause.

The next couple of weeks progressed without a lot of eventfulness. Mr. Weasley was always gone at work before anyone else got up, and was never back in time to eat dinner with them. Hermione left, as she had said, after only a few days at the Burrow, heading to her parent's home. This left Ron, Harry, and Ginny to be company for each other. This was slightly discomfited, as Ron had noticed the distance between Harry and Ginny, and had no idea how to go about solving it so he had resorted to ignoring it instead. But this made the situation worse, if possible. Harry told himself countless times over and over again that he did what he had to do, what he knew was right. But these thoughts didn't stop the lump that rose in his throat whenever he thought about what he was giving up.

As Harry's birthday approached, the mood in the Weasley home became slightly less suppressed. Mr. Weasley was not at the Burrow for the celebration, for which he apologized countless times to Harry. But the small party was fun nonetheless; a welcomed break to the constrained atmosphere of the house. Even Hermione came by, just for the night, which cheered Harry up considerably.

"Go on then, Harry, blow out your candles."

Harry did so, and each of the seventeen candles that had been placed on Mrs. Weasley's homemade cake flickered and died in Harry's puff of air. He took a piece of cake and sat back in one of the wooden chairs that were placed around the table. He was feeling unbelievably cheerful, but guiltily so. He tried to tell himself that he deserved to have a little fun.

_Dumbledore's dead, Voldemort is at large, people are dying left and right, and you are the only person who can stop it all. You don't deserve to have fun or eat cake or have a birthday party. There's no time._

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Today was his day. He deserved to relax today.

"Are you alright Harry?" came a quiet voice in his ear from his left. Hermione looked at him concernedly.

"Yeah," he said, grinning at her just to prove it. It seemed people were asking him this question all too often. "I'm great. Thanks for coming."

She beamed at him and continued talking with Fred and George about their shop; she had never ceased to be amazed at all of the magic they had learned to do.

"Everyone thought all of our years at Hogwarts were wasted," said Fred loudly. "But we proved everyone wrong, didn't we? We were using those years to come up with all this magic...and a lot of it was seriously complicated, mind you."

Hermione laughed, and Mrs. Weasley looked on the verge of a disapproving look, but instead busied herself with the kettle that was sitting on the stove top.

That evening, Harry lay awake in bed long after Ron had fallen asleep. Dust was swirling in the moonlight that streamed in through the tiny window, through which he could see the distant field beyond the Weasley's garden. The feeling of happiness that had filled him during his party was slowly draining out of him, as the thought of what he had to do next pressed upon him.

A/N: Hmmm, was it a little slow to you? I don't know, I got a bit bored writing it which usually means the readers got bored reading it. But hey, it's still only the second chapter; it gets more exciting I promise! Well, tell me what you think...the next chapter is probably going to take a little while, I still need to work it out in my head. I hope you liked this one.


	3. Consequences

**A/N: **I know, it's short. And I know I said the next chapter was going to take a little while, but I wasn't planning for this to be the 3rd chapter, I was going to stick it in later...but here it is, it's short but necessary. Read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly!

**Chapter 3**

**Consequences**

Severus Snape stood with his hands folded in front of him, his head bowed and black hood up, looking exactly like every other person in the circle in which he was standing. The Dark Mark on his left forearm had burned white-hot as soon as he had left the Malfoys' manor, for which he was deeply grateful. If he had been summoned any time sooner, he would not have made it on time.

Just then there was a loud crack in the middle of the circle, and every head snapped up automatically to set his or her eyes upon the man that had just materialized in front of them. An unnaturally tall man, the tips of Lord Voldemort's long fingers were just barely visible past the ends of the sleeves of his flowing black robes. The Dark Lord lowered his hood. The whole circle seemed to recoil.

"Ahhh," he said softly, a high pitched hiss that seemed to penetrate Severus's very heart. He had to stop a shiver from running down his spine. "My faithful followers...My Death Eaters."

Voldemort's red slits of eyes stared around the circle as he rotated slowly to look at them all. The look on his flat, pale face was one of supreme power; a slight smirk, even. He began to speak again, very slowly.

"There are a few things that need to be...dealt with...before I move on to what I mean to say to you all tonight. First..." He suddenly turned around very quickly and faced a particularly short and lumpy-looking Death Eater who immediately stood very erect as Voldemort walked toward him.

"As you know, Alecto, I ultimately entrusted you with the murders of Amelia Bones and Emmaline Vance...two who had gained rather too much knowledge than I felt comfortable with." He paused for a moment and Alecto began to tremble. "Yes, the murders did happen, but not quite how I expected them to. As you know, there were several...errors...on your part..." Voldemort's voice dropped to a menacing whisper as he pulled out his wand. "I should have dealth with you much earlier...but I think it is time you need a small...reminder...of what will happen in greater measure if you get carried away again..._Crucio_."

Alecto immediately crumpled to the ground and began to scream, a childish cry that reverberated around the circle and into the abandoned barn that stood some thirty yards away from them. Severus felt a cold shiver run through his body, wishing he could stuff his fingers in his ears. Voldemort held his wand on the twitching Death Eater for a considerable amount of time until he pointed his wand away from the heap on the ground, and the screaming stopped. Twitching horribly, Alecto scrambled to his feet and pulled his hood back over his head, swaying slightly in the circle.

"I think I have made my point..." said Voldemort, turning away from Alecto with a look of disgust on his snake-like face.

"Yes, my Lord," whispered the short Death Eater in a pained voice. "Never again my Lord, never again will I fail to carry out your plans as instructed..."

"Now...on to why I have called you here tonight." Voldemort made his way slowly back to the center of the circle. "As you all know, if you are standing here right now, you are one lucky enough to have been included in my most recent plan that was carried out this very night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

He stopped again, surveying them all with that same blazing look.

"Of course," he continued, in his cold, high-pitched inflection, "there are certain things that happened during that night that need to be assessed. My plan, as you are certainly already informed, was for the old fool who was Albus Dumbledore to be murdered at the hand of one young Mr. Draco Malfoy, and be out of my way, for his interference with my plans was starting to become quite bothersome indeed."

There were numerous murmurs of assent through the circle at this point, and several people nodded their heads vigorously in agreement. Voldemort waited for the noises to pass before continuing.

"Yes, there was no question, Dumbledore needed to go. I had been putting it off for far too long. And ignorant as the Malfoy boy sometimes appears to be, I trusted that he would efficiently complete the task that I had bequeathed to him. But he did not."

Here, Voldemort paused, walking every so slowly around the circle. It seemed he was inching along; Severus kept his eyes locked on the Dark Lord, thinking that he knew what was coming next. Nearer and nearer Voldemort grew to the place where Severus stood, until he was only a few feet away from him.

"No, it was taken care of. By one Severus Snape, as the result of a certain secret Unbreakable Vow..."

A sort of restless movement went through the circle at these words. Severus felt every eye upon him as he kept his own gaze fixed on the Dark Lord, who had now come near enough to stare him straight in the face.

"Tell me, Severus...where are Narcissa and Draco Malfoy this night? Surely they both felt the Dark Mark burn on their skin...?"

Severus felt the Dark Lord's red eyes burning hard into his own. His mind was racing, his heart hammering loudly in his chest, so loudly that he was sure every person standing in the circle could hear it. He weighed his options, his head reeling. He was an extremely accomplished Occlumens, but he knew that Voldemort also had marvelous power as a Legilimens. He could lie or he could tell the truth, but if he told the truth he would not only put himself in danger, but the Malfoys, too.

"I do not know, my Lord," he said finally, managing to sound cool and composed. "The last I saw of Draco was at Hogwarts. After I was forced to murder Dumbledore, the boy fled. I was right behind him, but he Disapparated before I could catch up with him."

Lord Voldemort's red eyes flashed dangerously as they bore into Severus's. He put up that brick wall in his head immediately, fiercely trying to keep his mind blank. After what seemed like a long while, Voldemort's gaze lessened. Severus fought the urge to exhale a sigh of relief. His heart, it felt, was trying to make its way up his throat. He felt weak from trying so hard to keep his mind closed.

But as soon as it had stopped, Voldemort's eyes flashed again suddenly, this time forcing entry into Severus's thoughts. To his helpless horror, memories of the last few hours spun rapidly in his head, including the ones of bringing Draco back to the Malfoy manor and talking with Narcissa. As soon as Voldemort had seen all that he needed to see, he relented. Severus immediately tried to compose himself from the attack on his mind, hoping desperately that he looked unruffled on the outside.

"Liar," whispered Voldemort in his most alarming voice. Severus tried greatly to keep his face blank. "Do you know what happens to liars in my circle, Snape?"

The circle seemed to go rigid. Severus felt he might collapse at any moment. He was feeling like an ignorant child. How could he have let the Dark Lord overpower him like that? He knew he had Occlumency powers that greatly rivaled Voldemort's, but he had let them go to waste. How could he have been so stupid?

He took a deep breath, which he hoped was unnoticeable. He chose not to answer Voldemort's question.

"I am not going to kill you, if that is what you are thinking...though I do not know what you are thinking, since you are so intent on closing your mind to me. You were always insufferably fickle, Severus. I thought you had left me forever when I fell...but you returned to me three years ago, claiming your allegiance had never wavered. And even if I can't see into your mind, I know it is not true. Do you think you can run around behind my back, doing things in secret, without my knowledge? Did you think you could help the two Malfoys escape, and I would remain I the dark? No, Severus...you should have told me the truth, for your lies have helped no one. The Malfoys will be captured and killed...and your ignorance will be punished..."

Voldemort reached into the pocket of his robes once more. Severus knew his long, thin fingers were grasping his wand. He thought of Alecto, screaming and thrashing and twitching on the ground; he knew he would get worse than that. Voldemort's torture of Alecto had been halfhearted, but necessary. Severus knew that the Dark Lord would take great pleasure in torturing him. He braced himself...knowing that he just might end up like the Longbottoms...

"_Crucio."_

**A/N:** How deliciously evil...I loved writing it. I hope you loved reading it! Next chapter definitely will take a bit longer...but it's going to be a lot longer in length, so I think it will be worth the wait, don't give up on me!


	4. Letter From a Friend

A/N: Ummm…enjoy! And I just uploaded 3 chapters at one time so you better appreciate it! Haha.

**Chapter 4**

**Letter from a Friend**

Hermione sighed as she dragged her heavy trunk down the misty London street. The noise that the trunk was making against the uneven cobbles on the road caused her to be the attention of the few Muggles that were out doing their shopping, and the fact that she was dragging Crookshanks along in his cage also didn't help. She didn't care; she only wanted to get to the Leaky Cauldron so she could deposit her things and eat dinner.

For the last few weeks she had been staying at her parents' house. She had explained to them all about Harry and Voldemort. They didn't understand any of it. _Well of course they didn't_, she thought sadly to herself. _They're Muggles, they don't know what horrors Voldemort is causing. Of course they know about the Brockdale Bridge and that freak hurricane, but they still don't understand the full impact of it._ But at least they had accepted that instead of transferring to another wizarding school, now that Hogwarts had closed, she would be staying with Harry.

Up ahead she saw the familiar entrance to the Leaky Cauldron; only a derelict ruin to Muggle eyes. As she reached the pub, she pushed the door open and a small bell above her head tinkled softly as she entered. The foyer was completely empty except for a small, hiccupping witch in the far corner near the stairs who was drinking from a mug that was steaming with thick, purple smoke, and Tom, the elderly barkeeper who looked up as she walked in. Tom, who was wiping down the counter with a holey rag, smiled feebly at her.

"Would you like a room, miss?" he asked hoarsely as she approached the counter.

"Yes, please," said Hermione. "The dinner menu and a coffee, also."

"Five Galleons, three Sickles," said Tom, abandoning his attempt to wipe the dusty counter. "I'll take this, and be right back." He took her trunk and Crookshanks's cage across the foyer and, with an effort, hauled it up the stairs.

Hermione looked despondently around at the empty pub. At one time, this place would be filled with laughter and joyful conversation as well as many different witches and wizards from all over. The echoes of that laughter and joy rang in her ears and slowly died away, like shadows of something that had once been.

She took a seat at a table near the staircase, and rummaged around in her bag, pulling out a handful of silver and gold coins and separating the amount of money that Tom had asked for. Just as her stomach let out a particularly loud grumble, the barkeeper reappeared on the upstairs landing and toddled down the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. Hermione sighed and looked out of the window, but could not see far as there was so much fog.

She _really_ needed that coffee.

An hour later, and full of mashed potatoes and shepherd's pie, Hermione was feeling like she needed to get out. Moments later she was tapping her wand on the brick wall in the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron, and it opened for her revealing the wide street of Diagon Alley. The fog was still thick as she stepped out onto the road, squinting around for any sign of life. She saw none.

Half of the shops that lined the streets were boarded up and empty. The other half had bright purple posters in their windows: "A Guide to Self-Defense Against the Dark Arts". The faces of the bunch of escaped Death Eaters still stared out at Hermione as she passed, too. She didn't know why the Ministry bothered to keep the wanted posters up; those Death Eaters would never be caught, and the rest of them would just be escaping from Azkaban any day now. Hermione sighed. Her heart felt heavy.

She passed Flourish and Blott's; a display of fabulous, shimmering golden books was gleaming in the window, along with a handsome eagle-feather quill. Hermione was tempted by the eagle-feather quill, but reminded herself that she would not have many uses for an expensive quill like that in the future. Letting out another deep sigh, she turned the corner and made towards Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, hoping desperately that taking a peek inside the joke shop would cheer her up a bit.

As she rounded the corner, she saw the shop, with its brilliant purple-bricked outside. Drawing nearer, though, she didn't see any of the usual sparks or whirling lights that usually came from the windows. Finally, she stopped right in front of the doorway and read the large sign that had been erected behind the glass of the door: **Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will be closed temporarily due to recent events**. Hermione's heart sank. Of course. Fred and George were at their parents' house, along with Harry and the rest of the Weasleys. She could hardly bear the thought of them all being together without her, but she had said that she would wait for Harry's letter telling her when he would come collect her. They would be living at Godric's Hollow, as they had discussed at the Weasleys'. Hermione was just a little nervous about this; she didn't know how Harry would react when he saw his parents' graves. She also didn't know what his plan was for when they got there; when were they going to take action against Voldemort?

The thoughts were chilling her, and the desolate appearance of Diagon Alley had done nothing at all to lighten her mood. In fact, it had only made her more miserable. Sighing again, she turned away from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and back toward the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't know what she would do once she got back to the pub, but she knew it was better than staying in this deserted place. As Hermione made her way back down the cobbled street, a black cat streaked in front of her path, hissing and spitting at her as she almost stepped on it.

"Aw, I'm sorry," she said to the cat. She bent down to pet it, but as she did so the cat's hair stood on end, its back in a high arch, and it backed away from her, flying in the opposite direction. Hermione watched the cat dart behind a garbage can farther down the road. _Even the cats can't trust anyone anymore, _she thought dejectedly.

As soon as she entered her room in the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione collapsed onto the chestnut canopy bed that stood near the window. Crookshanks bounded up on the bed beside her and curled into a neat little ball, purring contentedly as she scratched his head. She wondered bleakly how long it would take Harry to get his affairs in order and write to her. Sitting up suddenly, as though she expected to see Hedwig soar through the window right then, she stared out of the window next to the bed. And to her surprise there was, in fact, an owl flying towards it. But her heart fell as she saw that it was not the familiar snowy white coat that belonged to Hedwig; rather, it was a sleek-looking brown tawny owl. She opened the window hurriedly just in time so that the owl could soar through it and land on her bedside table.

There was an envelope tied to the bird's leg, and Hermione rushed to take it. But as she saw that the envelope was stamped closed with that familiar scarlet seal with an intricate 'H', anticipation left her. She already knew what was written in the letter. As soon as she had detached it, the tawny flew away again out of the open window, and Hermione shut it behind the owl. She broke the seal miserably, knowing that what she would read inside would only make her feel worse than ever. The letter was short and to the point.

_Dear Ms. Hermione Granger,_

_We regret to inform you that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will not be operating this year, due to recent unfortunate events. We ask you to please refrain from returning to the school on September 1st, for the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ will be sealed and the Hogwarts Express will not be functioning. We suggest that you apply to be transferred to another wizarding school to attend until further notice. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_**Minerva McGonagall**_

Hermione crumpled the piece of parchment in her fist, angry tears springing to her eyes involuntarily. When Dumbledore was alive their lives had not been perfectly happy, but his very being had cast a sort of comfort upon them. She thought about the Sorcerer's Stone in their first year, and the Chamber of Secrets in their second. And how they had met Sirius and Lupin in their third year. Up to that point, she had been scared out of her mind during those times of course, but somehow she knew that no serious harm could come upon her or Harry or Ron while Dumbledore was at Hogwarts. Things had gotten more dangerous in fourth year, with the Triwizard Tournament and Barty Crouch, but still, Dumbledore had been there which gave her great comfort. And even more trivial was their excursion to the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year, but then Dumbledore had turned up there too, in the end, even if lives had been cost. The closest Hermione thought she had ever felt to being hopeless was last year with the Death Eaters when she had known that Dumbledore was out of the school. She thought back hopelessly to Harry's suspicions that Malfoy had been up to something, and how she and Ron and regarded them as though they were slightly ridiculous. _Why, oh **why** didn't we listen to him?_ Hermione thought desperately. _If we had, Dumbledore might still be alive and Hogwarts might still be open…_

Hermione blinked and felt warm tears stream down both of her cheeks. She turned and buried her face into the feather pillow on her bed, grasping the sheets in her fists. Feeling a suffocating wave of emotion cloud her brain, she screamed into the pillow and felt tears start to flow freely from her eyes. Crookshanks leapt back up onto the bed next to her, purring in her ear. Lifting her head from the pillow, Hermione began to stroke his silky orange head.

"Oh, Crookshanks," she whispered as he purred continually louder. A lump formed in her throat. "What am I going to do?"

But suddenly something caught her eye. Sitting up slowly, hardly daring to believe it, Hermione squinted out of the window, trying to focus through the blinding light of the brilliant red and orange sunset. And then she saw: a rush of snow-white feathers gracefully soaring towards the window.

"Hedwig!" she gasped, lifting the glass pane so that Harry's owl could come through and land on her bedside table, just as the school owl had done.

Hermione rushed to untie the letter from Hedwig's leg. She noticed that it was considerably thicker than the school letter had been, at which she felt her spirits rise slightly. Before opening the envelope, she poured some water out of the jug near her bed and into Crookshanks's shallow and empty food dish, pushing it towards Hedwig. The owl took a long drink and hooted thankfully at Hermione.

Hermione brought the letter over to her bed, sat down, and opened it. It was indeed Harry's familiar scrawl, which never ceased to make her smile.

_Hermione, _

_How are you? I've missed you most of the summer, I'm really sorry that I haven't had a chance to write before now. And I never got a chance to tell you that I really appreciated that you were there for my birthday, it wouldn't have been the same without you. And thanks for the gifts, I haven't started reading the book yet, but I know I will get around to it. And the Everlasting Lollipops are great, I'm never going to run out of sweets again._

_Mr. Weasley still hasn't been around here much. Or at all. He always leaves before anyone is up, and everyone's always asleep before he comes home. Mrs. Weasley has done a few Cheering Charms on him and they work alright, but you should be here Hermione, no one can do a Cheering Charm better than you. She also tried to get him to drink a Pepperup potion that she made herself, but he wouldn't touch it, and I don't blame him….It's been about three days since she made it, and there's still bloody orange smoke clouding everything up. _

_To tell the truth, I could use a Cheering Charm myself. My scar burned really badly last night, something it hasn't done in months…and I never know what my scar burning means anymore. I can't get snatches of what Voldemort is feeling anymore, he's made sure of that. So I don't know what it means, but I suppose it doesn't matter much anymore._

_I still need to visit the Dursleys' house once more and straight after that is Bill and Fleur's wedding. I figure you can come for the wedding, and then you, Ron, and I can head off. Send Hedwig back telling me what you think._

_Love always,_

**Harry**

Hermione smiled at the thought of a wedding. She put Harry's letter back in its envelope, pulled out a roll of parchment and a quill, sat down at the bedside table and began to write.

**A/N**: I honestly thought this chapter was going to be longer…I had so many things planned in my head for it, but only parts of those things could come out on paper. But hoped you like this, the next chapter will be here soon! Read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly.


	5. A Last Visit

**A/N**: Read. Enjoy.

**Chapter 5**

**A Last Visit**

Number four, Privet Drive looked exactly the same as ever. The hydrangeas were in full, glorious bloom and Uncle Vernon's shiny black company car was sitting on the driveway, gleaming in the glittering ginger twilight. The warm summer breeze tousled Harry's dark hair as he looked up the house. He headed up the drive to the front porch for the last time, and knocked on the front door.

It took the Dursleys a considerable amount of time to open the door, which was only to be expected. Harry knew that they had seen him coming; no doubt Aunt Petunia has poked her horsey face through the front curtains. He had sent them owl post that he would be arriving now, but he was sure that they had done their best to ignore the letter, because first of all it had been brought by an owl (after six years with Harry the Dursleys hated owls), and second they hoped that if they did, he wouldn't come.

Finally, after Harry had waited for a few moments, Uncle Vernon's porkish face appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. He grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and pulled him inside the house quickly.

"Did any of the neighbors see you…arrive?" asked Uncle Vernon, looking nervously over Harry's shoulder and out of the window next to the front door.

"No," said Harry, though he had no idea whether any of the other residents of Privet Drive had seen him Apparate in front of the Dursleys' house. Though he hoped not, because he had only just passed his Apparition test right after his birthday. If any Muggles had seen he could lose his license.

"Well, let's get this over with," said Uncle Vernon gruffly. "The sooner you're out of here the better."

Harry nodded, not expecting one ounce more of compassion from Uncle Vernon. He made his way across the front hall and up the stairs onto the landing. He turned to his right, and entered through a door at the end of the hall. Glancing around the room, he saw only a few things left in it that belonged to him. Of these things there were several broken quills that lay on the bedside table, a box of forgotten owl treats on the floor under the old, weathered desk, and an empty inkwell that sat on the shelf above the bed. Harry wondered for a split second why he had bothered to come back at all. And then he remembered: Dumbledore had wanted him to. The thought of Dumbledore caused a sudden, sharp pain in his chest, so Harry hurriedly busied himself collecting the junk that lay around the room.

The broken quills, inkwell, and stale owl treats were stuffed into a small knapsack that Harry had carried with him, accompanied by a broken Sneakoscope that Harry remembered had cracked at the bottom of his trunk one year. After stuffing the Sneakoscope into the sack, Harry took one last, sweeping look around the room, knowing this would be the very last time he would ever see it. The thought raised his spirits significantly. But as his eyes darted over the old bedside table, he noticed that the drawer inside of it was open slightly. Not knowing exactly why, for it was sure to be filled with just more junk, Harry made his way over to the drawer, depositing his knapsack on the bed as he crouched down to look inside of it.

Pulling open the drawer all the way, Harry's heart gave a start at what he found inside. It was a very old, very dusty photo album that Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. He knew that inside there were pictures of his own family, his parents, and Sirius. Without pausing to think on it much, Harry seized the book and thrust it into his bag, turning and striding out of the room for the last time.

Just as he made to head down the stairs, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that a door to his right stood open. He turned to look. There was his enormous cousin Dudley, who was apparently attempting to lean against the doorframe coolly, but didn't quite manage to fit in the doorway, so instead half of him was in his room, and half of him was hanging out of it. The smug look on his face did not falter when Harry snorted loudly at him.

"Running away, Potter?" Dudley sneered at Harry's back. Harry took a step towards his cousin, his hand twitching near his right pocket, where his wand lay. He realized that a golden opportunity lay ahead of him. Now that he was of age, he could use magic here without being detected or reprimanded; he was in for a good time.

"Puts your mind at ease, does it Diddykins?" Harry said to him. He advanced upon Dudley even farther. His cousin recoiled slightly. "Makes you feel better, knowing that I won't sneak into your bedroom in the middle of the night, and curse you into oblivion?"

Dudley tried to keep the smug smile on his face and keep his cool demeanor, but his trembling fists gave him away. He said nothing.

"Aha," said Harry, pulling out his wand lavishly. He tried to repress the grin that was threatening to creep onto his face as Dudley's enormous form went rigid, and his piggy eyes locked themselves on Harry's wand.

"You can't use magic outside of your freak school," said Dudley in a would-be confident voice, his eyes never leaving Harry's wand. "You can't do anything to me."

"Can't I, Big D?" He brandished his wand and brightly colored carnations sprouted from the tip of it; Dudley looked at them as though they were active grenades. Harry couldn't suppress a smirk. "Have a good rest of your life, cousin. Oh, and Diddles…" Harry was delighted to see the astonished and petrified look on Dudley's face, the flowers scattered at his feet, "Don't be so sure that I _won't_ sneak into your bedroom in the dead of night….Sleep with one eye open, ickle Diddybum."

Harry tapped his wand lightly on Dudley's cheek, and his cousin leapt back three feet as if he'd been scorched, trembling from head to foot. Harry turned on his heel and made his way nimbly down the stairs. All of a sudden his mood had skyrocketed.

"Goodbye Uncle Vernon! Goodbye Dudley! Goodbye Aunt Petunia!" He shouted into the foyer, not expecting any sort of response.

As he made towards the front door, he caught a glimpse into the kitchen from his right. There sat Aunt Petunia with a dripping yellow sponge in her hand, her lips pursed over her large, bony teeth, staring at Harry. Harry was slightly surprised because usually she would be glaring or glowering, but now she was only staring blankly, as if she didn't know what to say. Harry chose to ignore this, and swung the door open, the sound of thousands of crickets greeting him.

"Harry."

Harry froze in his tracks, wondering if he had even heard anything. Slowly and tentatively he turned around and stuck his head back through the door. There was Aunt Petunia, standing right beside the doorway. She had abandoned her sponge and was wringing her hands, looking at Harry nervously.

"Er…" Harry looked at her. Her chin was trembling.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," said Aunt Petunia breathlessly. Harry stared at her, thoroughly shocked by this uncharacteristic showing of something other than callousness. He was completely lost for words. Petunia seemed to have noticed this. "You may have been a….a…a pest, annoyance, and a pain in the neck all of these years, but…" she looked at him with sincere concern. "You are my sister's son…and no matter what I ever said, I loved my sister dearly, even if she was a bit..." Petunia pursed her lips, obviously keeping herself from saying something nasty. "…different," she finished.

Harry was speechless. He goggled at Aunt Petunia for a good two or three minutes before finding his voice again.

"Uh, thanks Aunt Petunia," he said finally, nodding, and made his way slowly out of number four, Privet Drive for the very last time.

Back at the Weasley house things were extremely hectic, and the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Everyone was bustling about; members of the Order had been popping in and out all week asking about the wedding which was taking place the next evening. Fleur was staying at the Burrow now, and even with Charlie, Fred, and George not staying anymore, the house seemed even more crowded with just her instead of three men.

As soon as Harry had returned from the Dursleys he found that Hedwig had brought back Hermione's lengthy response to his letter. He smiled as he read it. Her constant words of comfort might have made him feel better, but he knew that she was just as worried as he was. But at least she was coming tomorrow for the wedding and he would be able to talk to her in person, which was something to look forward to.

The wedding plans were taxing on the Weasleys, but Harry knew that they enjoyed the hustle and bustle, especially Mrs. Weasley. He enjoyed it, too, somewhat. It gave everyone in the house something happy to focus on. The wedding was taking place in the Weasleys' backyard because they couldn't much afford anything fancy, and apparently Fleur "wouldn't have eet any uzzer way." Harry was looking forward to tomorrow night, but he knew that once it was over there would not be much else to be happy about. He didn't know exactly how he felt about living in Godric's Hollow, but it was the only place there was if he wanted to take action against Voldemort. There was, of course, Grimmauld Place which was rightly his, but Harry didn't think he could stand the pain of staying in Sirius's home, even if it was better protected than his parents' old manor. And besides, the Order of the Phoenix was still using Grimmauld Place as headquarters, which would be distracting.

Dinner that night was quick and rushed. Everyone was tired and slightly cranky from the hectic last week, knowing that by this time tomorrow it would all be almost over. It didn't help that Fleur kept bursting into sporadic tears all over the place. And oddly enough, Mrs. Weasley was usually the one comforting her as a part of their newfound friendship. Ginny, however, had still not developed such a friendship, and the nickname 'Phlegm' lived on.

Later that evening Ginny, Ron, and Harry sat by themselves in the backyard near the hedge. Ginny and Ron sat on an old wooden bench that was covered in greenery, and Harry sat on the ground, leaning against the dense hedge. His good mood over efficiently terrorizing Dudley for the last time and leaving the Dursleys had long since left him.

"Honestly, I really want Bill to be happy, but as soon as he and Phlegm are married and this thing is over, I'll be happy," said Ginny. She shook a few locks of auburn hair out of her face and continued. "They've got their own place in the city now, really close to Gringott's. Though she doesn't want to work there anymore, the only reason she was working there in the first place was to hit on Bill. But it shouldn't be too bad. I mean I've never been in a wedding before—"

"Ginny," said Ron, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. "Will you _shut_ _it_?"

Ginny scowled at him, but was silent once more. But Harry wished she had kept talking. It was easier to let his eyes wander around when someone was talking. But whenever there was a silence, his attention always seemed to go back to Ginny. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, his heart ached for her. They had barely spoken since he had had to break it off with her. Ron was their middle ground, and Harry knew that Ron felt severely uneasy in this position, which made Harry feel even worse. But as soon as Hermione came around, things would get better, Harry thought.

But for now, they sat in the silence while Harry's chest ached, that familiar burning creeping up in his eyes again. He needed to get away from her; he needed to get away from here.

"I'm gonna go take a walk," mumbled Harry standing and brushing leaves and debris from his pants. He felt Ron and Ginny's eyes on him as he walked the length of the hedge and turned out into the darkness of the field beyond the Weasleys' backyard.

The stars twinkled and winked at him and a sliver of a crescent moon hung in the inky sky. Rather than easing, the pain in his chest increased, bringing with it a large lump in his throat. He tried swallowing this lump, but he couldn't, and all he saw was Ginny's face, and Dumbledore's face, and Sirius's face. Blinking rapidly, Harry couldn't stop several hot tears leaking out of his eyes and running down his cheeks.

**A/N**: I've realized that I'm probably going to be favoring writing from Harry's point of view…but you can't blame me, after all, the real books are all from Harry's point of view. Well, read and review: the good, the bad and the ugly!


	6. In Between Places

**Author's Note**: This one is a shortie. Enjoy! ;)

**Chapter 6**

**In Between Places**

Draco awoke to a hand stroking his head, smoothing his damp hair back off of his face. His mouth was extremely dry and his throat felt rough. As his vision cleared he looked up at his mother and her pale face was looking back down at him.

"Mother," breathed Draco hoarsely.

"Oh, baby," Narcissa whispered back. She bent down and kissed his forehead, continuing to compulsively smooth back his hair. "You're awake."

Draco struggled to sit up, his head still clouded with sleep. He realized that he was in a bed in the middle of what seemed to be a bleak, one-room cabin. Wind howled viciously outside the bare walls, and the one window across from him rattled in its frame.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and letting his platinum hair fall back into his face.

Narcissa looked around the cabin from her perch on the end of the bed that Draco was lying in. He now noticed that there was a tatty, dilapidated armchair in the far corner of the room near the door, and one small, wooden table near the bed. A candle sat on the table, burning and flickering feebly.

"This was one of your father's stashing places for all of our Dark possessions….He used it back when the Ministry was performing all of those raids. There's a storeroom underneath." She pointed to a dusty trapdoor that was laid in the floor. Draco wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't pointed it out. She sighed. "We never use it anymore, though."

Draco yawned widely and shivered; the draft, it seemed, was making its way through the walls.

"How long was I out for?" he asked his mother.

"Only since last night," she replied. "And you slept through the entire day."

Draco looked up at his mother, and all of a sudden the previous night's events crept back into his memory. A sickening feeling washed over him, and for a moment he felt as though he might vomit again. He had failed to kill Dumbledore. And now…now the Dark Lord was going to kill him and his mother. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead and the air seemed to leave his lungs.

"Mother," he gasped. "Does…does the Dark Lord know where we are?"

Narcissa contemplated him for a moment and the wind howled even harder against the shabby cabin walls.

"I don't believe so," she responded finally. "Not as of now, anyway."

Draco stared at his mother, that nauseating feeling threatening to overcome him again. They were going to die. And it was completely and entirely his fault.

"I'm….I'm sorry I failed us, mother," he whispered, looking down at the frayed bed sheets. He swallowed roughly. "If we…if he…if anything happens to us…it'll be all my fault."

Narcissa placed a thin hand on her son's pale face. Draco saw tears well up in the corners of her eyes.

"Of course it wouldn't be, Draco," she said to him softly. "The Dark Lord knew that he was entrusting you with an extremely dangerous task…it was his revenge on our family for what happened at the Department of Mysteries. Even though none of it was Lucius's fault, the Dark Lord just needed someone to blame…" She scowled and looked down at the floor. "But…I still don't know where we're going to go to be safe. Sooner or later he will find out we're here, and this place isn't suitable for living anyway….Oh, what are we going to do?" she added quietly, more to herself than to her son.

Draco looked down at his hands, thinking hard. Suddenly, words floated to his mind. _Come over to the right side, Draco….We can hide you better than you could possibly over to the right side, Draco….You are not a killer…_Draco's mind raced, his heart rate escalading. What if they did go over to the other side? Now that the Dark Lord was out to kill them, they couldn't very well be on the dark side anymore…could they? What was the point in refusing help that had been so willingly offered? He looked back up at his mother, who was staring across the room mournfully.

"Mother…" said Draco suddenly. Narcissa was broken out of her reverie and turned to face him. "When I had Dumbledore at the end of my wand, I….He offered to help us. He said that the…the Order of the Phoenix could hide us better than anyone else…and well…what other options have we got?"

Narcissa stared at him. "The Order of the…but Draco, the Dark Lord—"

"The Dark Lord is out to kill us, mother. You can't honestly still want to follow him? What else are we going to do?" Draco knew he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince his mother. She stared at him through blank eyes, and he could almost see the gears of her mind working furiously.

"I…I don't know," said Narcissa finally.

"We can ask Snape," said Draco, thinking. "Now that Dumbledore's dead, the Order of the Phoenix will be have no Secret-Keeper. So he'll be able to tell us where to go….He'd want to help."

Narcissa continue to gaze at him. "Yes…yes…we'd have to…it's our only…and the Dark Lord…we wouldn't have to really…" She trailed off for a moment. "But don't think on it now, Draco. In the morning…it's very late. You should go back to sleep."

But Draco's mind was whirling with thoughts, and even though he lay in that threadbare bed feeling so very heavy, he could not get to sleep again.

**Author's Note**: I hope you liked it…don't worry; I will do Draco's chapters better justice later in the story. He's growing on me :) Read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly.


	7. A Black and White Wedding

**Author's Note**: My longest chapter yet…it's worth a read though, I think. Very emotional. Read on!

**Chapter 7**

**A Black and White Wedding**

Dazzling yellow rays of early morning sunlight poured through a window set in one of the topmost floors of the Burrow, illuminating Ginny Weasley's slumbering form. As the brightness shone through her eyelids, Ginny rolled over in her bed, heaving a shuddering yawn. Her ruffled ginger hair hung in her face and she opened her eyes, looking around her small room. A few articles of clothing lay on the floor, and an assortment of parchment and quills were left in disorder on her tiny desk.

Sounds of excitement could be heard coming from downstairs, Fleur's high-pitched expressions discernable among them. Ginny sat up in bed and blinked in the bright sunshine that now filled the room. She tossed the covers off of herself and swung her legs out of bed, pulling on a pair of baggy pajama bottoms as she headed towards the door.

The kitchen was buzzing with people already, and various pots and pans were bubbling and sizzling on the stove. Fleur was sitting at the table in her nightgown along with Hermione, Bill, a younger, paler looking version of Fleur, and, to Ginny's surprise, Tonks. Mrs. Weasley was hovering around the stove, floating from pot to pot. Everyone looked up as Ginny entered. Fleur was the first to speak, which was not a surprise.

"Oh, Ginny!" she cried, positively leaping up from her seat and taking Ginny by the shoulders, steering her over to the table. "We 'ave been waiting for you to come down! I was just about to go up and get you, in fact. Ginny, this is my younger seester Gabrielle, she will be being a bridesmaid with you. Gabrielle, this is Ginny. She is Bill's little seester."

Ginny smiled at the girl, and she smiled shyly back. Fleur beamed widely. Ginny took a seat at the table next to Hermione and across from Tonks.

"Wotcher, Ginny," said Tonks, smiling from beneath her usual spiky, bubble-gum pink hair.

"Hi Tonks," said Ginny, returning the smile. "Hi Hermione."

Hermione grinned at Ginny and greeted her in return. The group launched into friendly chatter about this and that, and the sun rose steadily higher in the sky until Fleur hopped out of her chair for the second time that morning.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed loudly. Everyone looked at her. "Eet is almost nine o'clock! Gabrielle, Ginny, into ze sitting room, we need to get you in your dresses; we 'ave only three hours! 'Ow could I 'ave let time get ze best of me? Come!"

She ushered the two girls from the kitchen, Ginny casting an exasperated look behind her. Hermione smiled sympathetically.

Back in the sitting room Fleur seated both girls on the sofa and stood in front of them, beaming enthusiastically. She pulled her wand out of the pocket of her nightgown.

"I know you girls will _adore_ ze dresses! _Accio bridesmaids' gowns_!"

There was a faint rustling from upstairs. A few seconds later, two sleek-looking, shimmering gold dresses made their way down the staircase side-by-side.

"Aren't zey _gorgeous_?" Fleur was practically quivering with excitement. "I supervised ze creation of ze gowns from start to finish…zey are perfect! Aren't zey? Aren't zey?"

But neither Ginny nor Gabrielle had time to answer, for Fleur was already coaxing them out of the room and up the stairs to try on their dresses.

_It isn't bad_, Ginny thought as she surveyed herself in the mirror ten minutes later. The dress hugged her slender form down to her hips, where it billowed out gently to the floor and revealed two inches of fluffy white tulle at the very bottom. In the back it dipped halfway down her back and a poofy gold bow sat right where the fabric met back together. When Fleur had been taking vigorous measurements of her a few months ago, Ginny had had an idea of something ugly and frilly, but this was elegant and graceful. _Thank God_, she thought.

As Ginny opened her bedroom door, she peered around the landing before heading towards the stairs. She had made the mistake of thinking it was empty; when she stepped onto the first stair she heard a voice behind her.

"You, um….You look really nice."

Harry was sitting there, leaning against the wall with a book open in his lap. His dark, tousled hair was swept to one side, out of his eyes. Ginny's heart was pounding rapidly in her chest and she clutched the railing.

"Thanks," she said quietly, tearing her eyes away from Harry with great difficulty. She made her way down the stairs still gripping the railing so she didn't trip all the way down.

After Fleur had squealed herself hoarse over how beautiful Ginny and Gabrielle were in their dresses, she moved on to fussing over their hair and running them painstakingly through the exact formations that they were to be in for the wedding, over and over again. She had pulled Ginny's hair into a sleek and elegant ponytail, using Sleakeazy's Hair Potion to transform her normally straight red hair into large curls that cascaded out of the ponytail and down around her face. She had done Gabrielle's hair the same way, though Fleur had left her own hair down. She seemed to think that it was already beautiful looking and did not need too much attention.

Her dress, however, was a different story. There had been about an hour of commotion over Fleur's dress, about a thousand last-minute changes. It was a snow-white, flowing, strapless gown with little gold flowers in sporadic places. The back dipped down and had a bow, like the bridesmaid dresses, but was followed in a long, graceful train. First the flowers on the dress had been pink, and then they had been lavender, and now they were gold. The bow had come on and off about four times, the train's length had been elongated and shortened around that many times, also, and straps had been taken on and off of it once or twice. It was Mrs. Weasley who was doing most of the work while Fleur squealed about what she wanted. As they all quickly discovered when the dress had almost been set on fire, Fleur was no good for performing charms.

The backyard was completely transformed. Ginny's breath caught when she walked out of the back door. Somebody had charmed the hedges that surrounded the yard to bloom with spectacular red and yellow roses, and several white doves flapped around aimlessly within the confines of the yard. Around thirty white chairs had been erected with a wide aisle down the middle of them, and a beautiful white trellised arch with roses and green vines woven through it was sitting on a small, white stage in front of all the chairs. To the right of the stage sat a fully assembled band: cellos, violins, flutes and piccolos. The only thing that was lacking was players.

Finally the time had arrived. Ginny, Gabrielle, and Fleur were right inside the backdoor, while Bill was in the backyard conversing with two people that Ginny did not recognize. Fleur fussed with her poofy dress while the two girls stood in silence. Gabrielle had not said one word to Ginny since they had met; the redhead was starting to wonder whether the young girl could even speak at all.

Many members of the Order had showed up, along with several people that looked as though they would be Fleur's family. The priest had arrived; he was an elderly man with sleek gray hair, dressed in sharp black dress robes, standing on the white stage looking bored. Slowly, people made their way to their seats and Bill took his place on the right side of the stage, clasping his hands behind his back. There was silence for a few moments punctuated only by nervous peeping noises from Fleur, and suddenly the instruments to the right of the stage came to life and started playing a graceful wedding march of their own accord.

"Go! Go!" hissed Fleur to the two girls and they immediately exited the house and walked out into the sun, Gabrielle first while Ginny followed. They walked with poise in time to the music, all heads turned towards them on both sides, and all of a sudden Ginny felt extremely lighthearted. She couldn't stop a small smile from forming on her lips and she made her way behind Gabrielle up onto that white stage, and took her place under the white trellis, opposite from Bill and side-by-side with Gabrielle. Ginny looked across, making to grin encouragingly at Bill, but he was gazing back towards the door from which they had come.

There was Fleur, in her white dress with her platinum hair shimmering beautifully around her. She was carrying a newly produced bouquet of red roses, smiling straight at Bill as she made her way up the aisle in step with the wedding march. Ginny thought she looked rather like an angel with her white hair and white dress and sunlight pouring down upon her; it was like she was glowing.

Everyone else was also obviously captivated by Fleur's appearance, Ginny noticed. All heads were turned now towards her and were following her in her journey up to the white stage. She finally came to a stop next to Bill, her elegant train splayed out behind her. Ginny was grinning now, wondering why she had not been more excited about this before. A wedding was a beautiful thing.

As the priest began to speak in rich, earthy tones, Ginny felt her eyes wandering to the small crowd that had assembled for the wedding. She spotted her own mother first, who was in the front row, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, dressed in old lavender dress robes. And there was Kingsley Shacklebolt next to her, and Tonks and Lupin were near them (Lupin had an arm around Tonks' waist). There were many other witches and wizards from the Order that Ginny knew only by face, and Charlie was next to Percy, who was looking uncomfortable. Behind them were Ron and Fred and George and Hermione and—

Her heart gave a painful lurch as her eyes fell upon Harry, who was looking straight back at her, which she had not been expecting. Ginny felt her heartbeat speed up miraculously, and suddenly the air around her seemed very warm. The happy feeling was draining out of her as quickly as it had come. Their eye contact lasted for a few moments, his brilliant green eyes boring deep into hers, into her very soul. Suddenly, Ginny felt a searing pain in her chest, and realized that she had stopped breathing. Sucking in a deep breath and wrenching her gaze from Harry's, she looked back up at Fleur and Bill and the priest.

_Why does he do that to me?_ Ginny asked herself furiously, almost fighting back tears. _Why do I let him do that to me? I'm my own woman, I don't need him. I don't need him…do I? Why, why, why_?

And then it hit her.

_I…**love** him_.

She _loved_ Harry Potter.

"I do," said Bill, smiling through the scars on his face and gripping Fleur's hand.

"I do," sniffled Fleur tearily, and Ginny noticed that one of her left fingers was now sporting a small, shiny gold ring, as was Bill's. She had not paid attention to any of the ceremony. Her heart was still pounding rapidly in her chest.

Fighting the urge to kick herself, Ginny watched as Fleur and Bill locked themselves in a passionate kiss, and the small crowd applauded them fondly, bringing the redhead out of her trance-like state.

Once the wedding was over, long buffet tables had been magicked out into the backyard covered with long white tablecloths and weighed down with dishes and dishes of fabulous food. There was chicken, turkey, succulent hams, steaming potatoes, spiced peaches, fourteen delicious puddings, homemade strawberry ice cream, and one enormous white and pink wedding cake. The chairs had been set around about a dozen or more small white tables at which people were sitting, chattering happily and eating.

Ginny watched this scene from inside the back door. She wasn't feeling very sociable at the moment, even though Fleur had tried to drag her outside.  
She paced back and forth in front of the open doorway her head spinning with thoughts. It was times like these that she wished that she had a Pensieve, because her head was pounding and it felt like it might explode. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were leaving today. Somehow she knew she had to go with them. If she stayed here she would feel so useless, not knowing what to do with herself.

Nibbling on her thumbnail, Ginny sat down on the stool near the door, putting her head in her hands. They were going to be leaving soon; meaning the guests and Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Just as this thought ran through her mind, Ginny heard voices close behind her and immediately jumped up and hid herself quickly behind the large mahogany wardrobe that stood beyond the stool. From behind the wardrobe she watched as Hermione, Ron, Harry, and her mother entered through the open back door.

"Thanks for everything Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "You'll never know how much all this meant to me," he added quietly.

Mrs. Weasley sniffled a bit and put her hand on Harry's cheek. "You're as good as my son, Harry. I've always considered you part of the family…you, too, Hermione." She turned to the brunette that stood next to Harry.

"Thank you so much Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione, smiling. "I don't know what we would have done without you."

Everyone looked at Ron, including Ginny.

"Mum," said the blazing redhead, stepping towards his mother. "It's been an excellent seventeen years." He paused for a moment, thinking. "If anything happens…I mean, to me…well…I love you, mum," he said finally. Mrs. Weasley squealed and threw her arms around her son, tears streaming down her face. Ron hugged her back, equally hard.

After what seemed like a long while to Ginny, the mother and son separated and the three teenagers moved towards the fire and the pot of Floo powder. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, and all rational thought was pushed to the back of her mind as she stepped out from behind the wardrobe. The four people turned to look at her, each with a look of slight incredulity on his or her face.

"I'm going with you," she said breathlessly, brushing several curls out of her face.

There was a long silence, during which everyone stared at Ginny, apparently lost for words. Mrs. Weasley found her voice first.

"Of course you're not, Ginny," she said curtly, her voice oddly high-pitched. "You're staying here, where you belong with your father and me."

"He's never around anymore, anyway," said Ginny loudly, taking a step toward her mother. "What can I do here, mum? Sit around and watch while You-Know-Who kills the rest of our friends and family?"

"You can stay here and support your family!" said Mrs. Weasley shrilly. "You have no business out there! You're underage, you're not mature enough, and you're--you're the only child I have left at home!" Tears returned to Mrs. Weasley's eyes as she puffed herself up to her full height, which still was not very tall.

"So that's it, isn't it?" shouted Ginny wildly, anger burning inside of her. "You just want to keep me cooped up here forever because you don't want to have to deal with your empty nest syndrome!"

Mrs. Weasley gaped, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. Ginny was so incensed at her mother's unjustness that she had not noticed that Harry had closed in on her from behind.

"Ginny, can I talk to you alone for a moment?" he said quietly in her ear, making her start and turn to look into his intensely green eyes. She stared at him for a few seconds until he turned and headed towards the kitchen. She followed after him.

Harry stopped at the far end of the kitchen, beyond the wooden table, turning to face Ginny. She looked at his soft face, which was rather paler than usual, and bit her tongue, willing herself not to say anything stupid.

"You can't come, Ginny," said Harry abruptly, gazing into her eyes. Ginny gaped at him, shocked. She was sure he was going to offer her words of comfort, tell her that she would be able to come with them somehow.

"But…but…" she stammered. "I don't understand…why not? Why can't I come? All I want to do is to help destroy You-Know-Who, you know that…"

"I know that," said Harry softly. "But…I need to do this on my own…I thought you understood that. Even Ron and Hermione aren't going to help me destroy him. This needs to be my thing…and I don't think I could stand it if you…if anything happened you know…to you." It looked as though every word was causing him pain.

"Harry, I…" Ginny's pulse heightened and the air suddenly seemed very warm. Her head pounded and she swallowed the hard lump in her throat, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering like mad. "I love you," she whispered, her voice wavering.

Harry just looked at her unblinkingly, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. Ginny waited with bated breath, her insides doing incredible acrobatic tricks. It seemed to take an age for Harry to open his mouth again.

"You can't," he said, barely audible, looking away from Ginny and at an undefined spot on the wall. "You can't. You just…can't."

Ginny shook her head. "Well, it's too late, Harry, because I do. And there's really nothing you, or I, or anyone can do about." She felt tears springing to her eyes and bit her bottom lip, trying to stop them.

"No," said Harry loudly, looking back at her. "No, Ginny. Don't you see? Everyone close to me ends up hurt, or dead in the end. You're too young, Ginny, and too smart, and too beautiful and too….You need to forget about me, you need to get on with your life."

Ginny looked up at Harry. He had placed both hands on the table and was looking down at it, breathing heavily. She stepped closer to him, leaning around so she could look into his eyes, and putting her hand around his chin. She brought his face back up to her level and spoke quietly.

"Harry," she said, her eyes searching his. "I would rather die tomorrow with you by my side then have to face the rest of my life alone."

They stood there like that for what seemed like forever, her hand on his face, staring at each other. His black hair was ruffled, and she felt his warm breath on her hand. His lips were so close…his breath so warm…

Then suddenly Harry promptly pulled himself away from her touch, his breathing ragged as though he had just run a mile. Ginny's fingers tingled where she had touched him, and she lowered her hand to her side, looking down at the floor.

"You can't come, Ginny," said Harry forcefully once again, turning and striding swiftly out of the kitchen, leaving Ginny to stare at the back of his head with a solitary tear running down her cheek.

**Author's Note**: Aww…well, I hope you liked it. It was very long, no? Are long chapters good or bad? I tend to lean towards shorter chapters. Well read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly.


	8. Godric's Hollow

**Author's Note: **This is kind of short…ah well. Thanks for the nice review, lyesmith, it was greatly appreciated, and as to your previous review, well, you'll just have to wait patiently until later chapters for your questions to be answered, won't you:)In the meantime, read on.

**Chapter 8**

**Godric's Hollow**

Hermione stood in the Weasley's sitting room near the fire, fidgeting nervously. They were going. They were finally going. It hardly seemed real. Harry had just taken Ginny into the kitchen after her outburst a few minutes earlier. She wondered what Harry was saying to her; she wasn't exactly sure about he'd feel about her wanting to join them at Godric's Hollow. He knew it pained him a great deal not to be able to be with her; the look in his eyes when she was in sight told everything.

At that moment the door to the kitchen swung open and Harry came through it, looking extremely pale.

"Let's go," he said quickly, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from next to the grate and stepping in. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other surreptitiously, worried expressions on their faces. Hermione looked back at Harry who threw the powder into the fire and shouted "_Godric's Hollow_!" into the bright green flames, spinning around and disappearing instantly.

She and Ron each looked at the empty grate, and then back at each other. Things can't have gone well in the kitchen.

"What do you…er…think happened?" Ron asked, looking concerned. Hermione shook her head and looked back at the empty fireplace, feeling as anxious as Ron looked.

"But we'd better go…he'll wonder what we're doing," she said, stepping toward the fire and grabbing a handful of powder. "And remember, the password's 'Phoenix feather'. _Godric's Hollow_!" She shouted the name as green flames erupted around her and sent her into a spinning flurry, grates zooming past her eyes.

At the wedding that day Hermione and Harry and Ron had talked with Remus Lupin, who had told them everything he knew about Harry's parents' old mansion. There were precautions and spells set on it, but not nearly as many as Hermione remembered Grimmauld Place as having. You couldn't Apparate within miles of Godric's Hollow unless you knew the counter-charm, which Lupin did not. What Lupin did know, however, was the password to enter through the fire. He had told them that if anyone tried to access the manor through Floo powder, and didn't have the password, they were completely frozen in the grate, not able to move a muscle until a counter-curse was performed. He had begun recounting the many a time the Potters had found frozen witches or wizards in their fireplace and had to remove them.

"But they never, ever took that charm off," Lupin had chuckled, looking reminiscent. But suddenly his prematurely lined face had turned somber. "But if they had, they might have been gone…even sooner." It was at that point that Ron and Hermione had exchanged uncomfortable looks while Lupin hugged Harry and bid the other two a farewell.

As glimpses into hundreds of different wizarding homes whizzed past her eyes Hermione squeezed them shut before she started to feel sick. Just seconds later she found herself in an enormous fireplace looking into an equally mammoth scarlet-colored sitting room, unable to move a muscle. This was a problem, she discovered, because she was unable to move the muscles of her mouth to speak the password. Gazing around at the large, comfortable looking armchairs and sofas, Hermione's heart started to pound loudly in her chest.

_Phoenix feather,_ she thought desperately. _Phoenix feather, Phoenix feather!_ And to her surprise, she felt each muscle in her body relax again and she was able to move and step out of the fireplace, dusting soot off of her robes. Immediately after she walked into the sitting room she saw Harry at the far end of the gigantic high-ceilinged room examining objects in a glass and chestnut armoire. She headed over to him and as she did she heard a small pop in the grate behind her and knew that Ron had arrived. She hoped that he would be able to unfreeze himself.

As she reached Harry she looked over his shoulder into the extremely dusty glass case. It contained various ancient-looking sorted items of which included a massive teardrop ruby necklace on a stand, a golden ring on a long silver chain, and a mysterious looking black case with dull gray clasps. Hermione put her hand on Harry's shoulder and he turned to face her, his face just as pasty as it had been in the Weasley's sitting room.

"It's big," he said roughly, his voice echoing as he looked around the room with his hands in his pockets. _Well, that may be the understatement of the year_, thought Hermione. She thought that her parent's entire house might be able to fit in only this sitting room. The handsomely paneled walls were bedecked with paintings of people in magnificent settings; there were gray-haired men in high-backed chairs around a table playing an odd game with coins and a pretty elderly witch sagging with sparkling jewels who looked as though she might be Harry's grandmother. A long bookcase filled with hundreds and hundreds of very dusty, very old-looking books also took up much of the wall opposite the fireplace.

Ron, it turned out, had managed to remove himself from said fireplace, though it took him a considerable amount of time more than it had taken Hermione. He joined Hermione and Harry who had now taken to examining the books that were in the bookcase. They varied in subjects from _A Study of the Dark Arts and How to Protect Yourself_, and _Spectacular Spells in Five Minutes Tops! _Just as Hermione had cracked open _Do-It-Yourself Wand Repair_, she heard Harry mumble something about looking at the rest of the house and wander off through the doorway and into what looked like the entrance hall. She slipped the book back into its place on the shelf, followed by a puff of dust, and looked at Ron who was gazing towards the door that Harry had just exited through.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"I think he just needs alone time," said Hermione, heading towards a door in the opposite direction of the one that lead into the entrance hall, followed by Ron. It turned out to lead to the massive kitchen. Dulled pots and pans hung from the ceiling and white marble counter stretched around the perimeter of the room. There was a rectangular counter in the middle of the kitchen, also, on top of which sat a wooden cutting board and several pieces of stray silverware. A floor-to-ceiling stove was also against the wall, looking as though it hadn't been used in years, which, Hermione reminded herself, it probably hadn't.

Leaving the kitchen, she and Ron moved on to explore what they could of the house (there were several doors that remained mysteriously locked, even when the counter-charm was performed). There were four floors in all, not including the basement which was a dingy, low ceilinged room with a dirt floor and cobbled walls. They had not lingered there. Wondering where Harry might be, though not wanting to intrude on his privacy, Hermione and Ron exited the last room they had been looking around (the fantastic cheerfully yellow-walled drawing room) and headed outside. Godric's Hollow looked fabulously majestic from the outside. The walls were of red brick and incompletely blanketed with thick green ivy. On the north wall was a white trellis crawling with enormous, beautifully overgrown roses that smelled absolutely glorious. Tower-like peaks rose from the roof of the house and a colossal octagonal window which came from the north sitting room jutted out of the side of the house. Towering old pine trees were growing around the manor, which was surrounded on the north, east, and south sides with dense forest. The brick walkway that led to the door extended fifty or sixty yards all the way up a sloping hill to large iron gates flanked by stone lions the crouched on posts, looking ready to pounce.

Hermione, it turned out, had been right when she had suggested that Harry needed a bit of alone time. Over the next few days he remained secluded from the other two, his favorite haunts including the balcony that branched from what appeared to be his parents' old bedroom on the second floor, and the greenery-covered gazebo in the backyard. Hermione felt quite helpless, not to mention useless to soothe Harry's pain, and she was sure that Ron felt the same way. To break the awkward boredom, she and Ron had taken to cleaning the dusty place. By the end of the second day they had gotten rid of about three boggarts, dusted every room from head to toe, and tuned the old grand piano which stood in a room on the third floor by magic.

By the end of their third day at Godric's Hollow, Hermione was starting to feel exasperated to the point of tears. She lay in the bed that she had selected to be her own (in a dark mauve bedroom on the third floor) and couldn't help wondering whether they would ever get anything productive done here. She was still getting the Daily Prophet, which reported more and more deaths each day and growing destruction caused by the Death Eaters. Harry's moodiness was starting to grate on her nerves, and so in the morning she had gotten up, prepared breakfast for the other two, seized as many books as she could from the bookcase in the south sitting room, and spent the rest of the day locked in her room reading them. She had felt bad about leaving Ron to fend for himself with only the non-talkative Harry for company, but she felt as though she might explode if she spent another minute wondering what they were going to do and when they were going to do it.

Moonlight twinkled in through Hermione's window as she lay restlessly in bed, books strewn on the floor below her. She could hear faint movements from below her, and knew Harry was awake. Again. As far as she knew, he hadn't slept since their first night here. She wondered what had happened to her friend Harry that she used to know, because this wasn't him. He had been replaced by a reclusive, ashen-faced boy who hadn't spoken to anyone in days.

Sighing heavily, Hermione sat up and felt around for her wand on her bedside table, lighting it when she found it. Giving up on sleep, she heaved herself out of bed and stepped quietly out of her bedroom into the dimly lit hallway. Ron's muffled snores came from behind a door on the other end of the hall as Hermione made her way out to the landing and down the immense staircase.

The second floor was comprised of two different corridors. Off of one of these branched the drawing room, another spare bedroom, and a magnificent sparkling bathroom complete with a bath the size of a swimming pool sunken into the middle of the floor. It reminded Hermione rather of the prefects' bathrooms at Hogwarts, except lacking the assorted bubbling taps around the edge. But she headed not for that corridor, but for the second one. Her bare feet made hardly a sound on the dusty wood floors as she walked towards a door on her left that stood slightly open. A dim, flickering light told her that there was a fire dying in the grate, and she pushed the door open more, peering inside.

**Author's Note**: I know, lame ending…:( Sorry. Not much happened in this chapter except for arriving at Godric's Hollow and whatnot…I apologize. Next chapter is more exciting. But I have a question to be answered if you are going to review:I have this awesome idea about getting Harry and Ginny back together, and it's so romantic. But like...I dunno if it's too cliche, to get them back together? Feedback, anyone?Read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly!


	9. The Dark Mark

**Author's Note: **Not that anyone cares much, but I'm sorry this chapter took so long…I've been rather distracted. Well, read on!

**Chapter 9**

**The Dark Mark**

A sparkling golden Snitch twinkled only inches in front of Draco's face, its tiny wings fluttering madly. Suddenly, it sped off to the right and Draco dove after it on his Nimbus 2001, the wind whipping a few of his slicked blonde hairs slightly out of place. The fleck of gold gleamed in the bright sunlight and darted through a goalpost at the opposite end of the field. Draco sped towards it, but as soon as he reached the goalposts, it had disappeared again. He stared around at the empty stands and field, soaring around on his broom, his eyes keen for signs of gold. He needed to catch the Snitch. If he didn't, he was going to die; his family was going to die.

And then he saw it again, hovering near the Ravenclaw portion of the stands, not too far from him, and Draco took off as quickly as he could, flying after it. It was only a few yards in front of him…A few feet…Only a few inches…Finally, Draco took a hand off of his broomstick and reached for the miniscule golden ball. But as soon as he was about to close his fingers upon it, it was not a ball anymore, but a pair of pale long-fingered hands followed by a flat, snakelike face with blood red eyes. Draco's heart jumped into his throat as Lord Voldemort laughed mercilessly and gripped Draco's wrist with his hand. Voldemort's touch burned and burned so badly on his wrist and on his left forearm, and he, Draco, was screaming at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face—

"Draco! _Draco_!"

Draco Malfoy awoke to hands gripping his shoulders tightly and shaking him hard; his mother's face was bent over him as he opened his eyes, gasping for breath. He had been gripping the sides of the bed he was in so hard that his fingers and knuckles had lost all feeling. His mother released him, and Draco sat up, still breathing hard, hurriedly wiping wetness from his face. What had his dream been about? For he had surely been having a dream…all he could remember was a pair of pale white hands, gripping him…Suddenly, almost compulsively, he gripped his left wrist which still tingled in the aftermath of pain. He slowly moved his hand up to his inner forearm, massaging the place where he knew a serpent-tongued skull had been burned into his skin. This also felt as though it had been burning, and Draco's heart began to speed up. It doesn't mean anything, he told himself forcefully, removing his hand from his arm. Just a stupid dream, that's all.

"I said, are you alright honey?" Narcissa was bearing down upon Draco. He looked up at her. He had not realized that she had been talking.

"Yeah," said Draco hoarsely. "Yeah, I'm fine, mum. Just a…a nightmare, that's all."

His mother looked at him worriedly, but Draco turned his face the other way, and peered out of the small window. Tiredness was started to seep back into his brain, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. It was nearing dawn, anyway, judging by the fact that the sky outside had a faint light to it. The moonlight was fading slightly. He wondered vaguely how long that they would have to stay here, something he had been wondering very often over the past two days. He was starving; all they had eaten during this time had been increasingly stale sandwiches conjured by Narcissa, who didn't seem to be able to conjure anything else with her wand. As if just to confirm this fact, Draco's stomach gave an insistent grumble.

He had not brought up Dumbledore's offer since the first time he had awoken in this dingy, god-forsaken place. Neither had Narcissa, and so, they had remained here, "just for the time being" insisted Draco's mother. He wondered again how long "the time being" would be. He watched as his mother buried her face in her hands, and heard her being to weep softly. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know what we're going to do, Draco," she whispered through her tears. "I don't have any sort of plan. I'm so sorry, Draco, I'm so sorry…I've probably led us to our deaths."

Draco was silent. He could not see how they were going to escape their situation; the longer they lingered here, the more they risked being killed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. A sickening feeling replaced the one of hunger in Draco's stomach as he thought that once he had considered himself one of them. Or rather, he realized now, had been forced to be one of them. He had been so eager to join, so honored that he would be the youngest Death Eater ever, that he hadn't used his brain. He hadn't seen that his induction had been part of a bigger plan; that it hadn't been some huge honor. His hand moved once again to the Dark Mark burned into his skin. As long as that remained there, he still was one of them, which made him feel even more nauseous. He watched his mother and her sobs became even more pronounced. Everything was his fault. He deserved to die, and maybe even his father did, too, but not his mother. He wondered whether if and when the Dark Lord arrived to kill them, he could persuade him not to kill his mother. Tears streamed down Narcissa's face, and Draco felt the corners of his eyes burn, but suppressed the feeling. Malfoy men did not cry.

But Draco was saved from slipping deeper into his whirlwind of dejected thoughts by a distraction. As he glanced towards the window, something caught his eye, something that made all of the air leave his lungs. A sickly greenish tinge was shining in, making a square patch of green light on the moldy cabin floor. Instantly Draco jumped out of the bed as though an electric shock had been sent through his body. There was no need to look outside the window and check; he already knew.

"Mother," he croaked, and Narcissa looked up at him through her bloodshot eyes. "We have to leave. Now."

Draco's mother gazed at him for a moment through bloodshot eyes, frowning. But as she stood and walked over to where he was, he watched her glance out of the window, a look of horror spreading over her pale face. He knew she saw the ghostly green skull hanging straight above the tiny cabin, a serpent protruding out of its mouth, like some horrible travesty of a tongue. Draco felt his heart pounding madly in his chest as he watched his mother, who had stumbled backward and was gripping the rickety bedside table, her knuckles turning white. He had no idea how they were going to escape, and the longer they lingered, the larger the chance grew that they would die. He watched his mother for some sort of clue, but for a few moments she seemed as though she was frozen.

Suddenly Narcissa made a move swiftly across the room and bent down to the middle of the floor. For a split second Draco didn't comprehend, but he watched her wrench open the trap door that he had forgotten about, its hinges squealing loudly as dust rose up into the air.

"Get in," she whispered fervently.

Draco hurriedly strode over to the trap door. It was a pitch dark hole, dust swirling up from it; he had no idea how long the drop was to the floor. He hesitated for a moment.

"_Go_," hissed Narcissa, her face contorted with fear. Muffled noises and voices were now to be heard outside. Draco's stomach gave a huge jolt, and he abandoned his vacillation, jumping down through the trapdoor and into the hole.

The floor was a dirt one, and was only about six feet from the trap door; Draco landed on his feet, though barely. His knees buckled, threatening to give out, and he staggered backward precariously, finding a spongy cement wall and leaning against it. The air was icy cold in the dark room, and Draco immediately started to shiver, his teeth clattering together. He looked up, expecting to see his mother following right away, but instead she was closing the door.

"Mum!" shouted Draco, terror rising in him. "Come on!"

"I can't Draco," Narcissa said to him, a deeply saddened expression appearing on her face to mix with the dread already upon it. "I promise, I'll be okay. I'll get you once I've gotten rid of them."

With that she shut the door, eliminating all light from the musty-smelling room. Draco stood there in the pitch blackness, shivering horribly. He was sure that if there had been any light, he would be able to see his breath come out in misty puffs, it was so cold.

"_Colloportia_," he heard his mother's muffled voice mutter from above him, and he knew that she had removed the trap door from the floor so that it was solid wood paneling above him.

Draco felt as though he couldn't breathe. He opened his eyes as wide as he could against the pressing darkness, but to no avail. His wand was sticking out of his pocket, but his mind was so muddled that he did not even think to light it as he slid down the moldy wall. This couldn't be happening. They were supposed to be able to escape, the Dark Lord wasn't supposed to have caught up with them so soon. He had developed a thundering headache in his whirl of thoughts, and he clutched his stomach as it flip-flopped uncomfortably.

There was a sudden pounding noise on the door, and Draco heard it swing open, several pairs of footsteps hammering above him. He held his breath and strained his ears to listen, his heart beating wildly in his chest. There was silence for a few seconds, and then –

"Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa." A cold, high-pitched voice filled the room above. "Where have you been, Narcissa? You disappeared mysteriously without a moment's notice. One would even go so far as to say that it seemed as though you were…avoiding me."

"You bastard," Draco heard his mother say in a voice so quiet that he could barely hear her through the floor. His insides writhed with dread. "All because you believe it to be Lucius's fault, what happened at the Department of Mysteries...If you had not wanted revenge on our family, you wouldn't have forced Draco to do something you _knew_ he would fail at."

"Ahhhh, yes," Voldemort hissed, and a cold shiver made its way involuntarily down Draco's spine. "But I'm sure you know by now that Lucius has already gotten what he deserved."

"What are you talking about?" spat Narcissa, but Draco could hear the fear in her voice.

Voldemort laughed a cold, mocking laugh. "Of course. I was silly to assume that any news reaches your ears in this rat hole."

"You didn't…you couldn't have…" Narcissa's voice was trembling. "_Avada Kedavra!_" She shouted loudly, and there was a rushing sound, followed by a crash and splinter of wood, then silence penetrated only by Voldemort's laugh.

"You think you can match the powers of Lord Voldemort? You think you can murder me when so many others have already fruitlessly tried? No, Narcissa!" Voldemort laughed his merciless laugh again. "And surely you didn't expect me to let your brainless fool of a husband live, did you?"

The bottom felt as if it had dropped out of Draco's stomach, and he seemed to forgotten how to be able to breathe. His father was…dead? He swallowed. Of course his father had never been what one could call loving. He had been demanding and severe, never accepting anything less than the best from Draco, and when Draco failed to live up to expectations, he had always received hard whacks on the back from his father's walking stick, or a slap across the face. But of course, he had always deserved it…and the bruises always faded. And now…he was dead. Draco's head spun with incomprehensible thoughts as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Yes, Azkaban has been broken into, I have many of my faithful followers back, and Lucius Malfoy is dead, along with countless other betrayers. And I assure you, his death was nice and slow…just like yours will be…and Draco will suffer the same fate once we find whatever foolish place you've hidden him."

"You won't," Draco's mother said quietly, her voice shaking.

Voldemort laughed malevolently once more, and Draco heard footsteps. He held his breath, praying, hoping desperately for a miracle.

_"Crucio."_

Narcissa's shrill screeching filled the room above, and Draco was paralyzed, horrified. On his knees in the middle of a freezing, grimy, mildew-covered cellar, he sat frozen, listening to his mother's tortured screams. It went on forever, it seemed. Draco would have given anything for it just to stop, or to be able to clap his hands over his ears, but he couldn't move. His eardrums felt numb as he sat there, feeling utterly helpless as Voldemort tortured his mother.

What seemed to Draco like hours and hours later, it finally stopped. His head was still ringing with the sounds of his mother's screaming. _Please, please let her still be alive_, Draco pleaded. _I'll never, ever ask for anything ever again, if only she's still alive…_

And then he heard it, a small, barely audible whimper from above him. His heart leapt. She was alive.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Voldemort's high, icy voice filled the room once more, and his words pierced Draco's very heart, feeling as though the spell had been cast on _him_.

_No_…he thought. _Please…no…let this be a nightmare_…

"She must have hidden the boy elsewhere…," hissed Voldemort. "Not much else can be accomplished here. We leave."

And sets of four or five feet walked loudly out of the cabin door, leaving Draco alone once more, crouching and shivering in the freezing darkness, forgetting that Malfoy men don't cry.

**Author's Note**: Poor Draco. :( Well, read and review: the good, the bad, and the ugly!


	10. Revelations

**Author's Note**: Thank you so much for the nice reviews! They really do encourage me to write more, and make me feel good. To **duj** (the rest of you can quit reading here): On your review about Ron – I was trying to bring across a slightly suppressed mood in the Weasley kitchen, everyone being a bit preoccupied, including Ron. I don't think it would have occurred to him much to say anything to the twins about their comment, as they were only trying to lighten the mood. And don't think that Hermione didn't have many an argument with her parents – because she did. And she didn't exactly raise it up as a suggestion that she might go, she told them firmly that she was going, not leaving much room for protest on their part. But that's my fault – I assumed that you would assume that that is what happened, given Hermione's personality…and didn't explain fully. I apologize. And yes, when I wrote the bit about Harry and Dudley, I honestly did realize that wand monitoring is cued for usage in front of Muggles, but it was just too much fun to have Harry tormenting Dudley to give it up. :) And Fleur does stink at charms – she showed it during the Triwizard. Her failure to ward off the Grindylows in the lake proved it. But I do love hearing the mistakes you spot in my plot (and I'm not even being sarcastic!) – so keep reviewing!

Anyway. The first part of this chapter is pretty angsty…(cringes). Tried to avoid it. I couldn't, really. Sorry. And I just caught the mistake that Harry in fact did already show them the note from R.A.B...butI don't feel like changing it now sodeal with the inaccuracy!But, eh. Chapter ten is here…so read it.

**Chapter 10**

**Revelations**

A grandfather clock chimed loudly, its announcement that 1 a.m. had arrived reverberating around the humongous bedroom. The room had a wooden floor and walls adorned with beautiful paintings of landscapes; one above the king-sized bed of a meadow full of orange wildflowers with golden-haired maidens in long, flowing dresses frolicking in and out of it, giggling. Double doors leading to a large outdoor balcony stood open next to the bed and a light breeze wafted through them accompanied by bright moonlight.

Sitting at the end of the giant bed and bathed in this moonlight, Harry Potter's head was filled with a hundred thoughts at the same time, all worrying, all different.

Being at Godric's Hollow seemed to have taken a great emotional toll on Harry. Hermione and Ron seemed to enjoy the huge manor well enough, but the place was dead to Harry, it seemed as though it had died when his parents had. He imagined that it was once a bright, cheerful place, filled with sounds of laughter and jovial conversation. But now it was lifeless; its dulled furniture and books, paintings and aged knick knacks seemed to mock Harry every time he looked around.

But Harry knew that he couldn't afford to be acting the way he was. _Voldemort could be murdering people at this very moment, _scolded the voice in the back of his head. _And you're sitting here, drowning in your own worry. Enough is enough_. So he had no family left, he needed to get over it already.

Trying to douse the dull pain in his chest, Harry shook his head and rose from the foot of the bed. He paced the length of the room, back and forth and back and forth; it was something that he had taken to doing recently. As he strode from one end of the room to another, something caught his eye. Just under the giant bed was the corner of a grubby looking sack, though Harry could not think what it could be. Walking over to the bed and bending down, he pulled the bag from under the bed and recognized it instantly as the knapsack that he had brought to the Dursleys' a week ago.

Scowling, Harry upturned the bag on top of the bedcovers and out fell the objects that he had thrown inside. The cracked Sneakoscope quivered feebly, lying on top of the several broken quills and empty inkwell. But something heavy fell from the bag, too, and Harry's heart gave a start as he realized what it was. He seized the heavy, dusty photo album and slowly sank down to the foot of the bed, holding it. He wondered if he dared look at the pictures in it, for fear of having a complete breakdown. Pushing these thoughts to the back of his head, Harry cracked open the old photo book to the first page.

There were his mother and his father, who both broke into ecstatic smiles at the sight of him and waved up at him frantically. Harry's heart pounded dully in his chest. Here were the people that had been ever on his mind for most of his young life. His fingers trembling slightly, Harry turned the page and found another picture of his mother, solitary, leaning against a barrier in a train station, her reddish-brown hair whipping, as if in the wind. She beamed up at him. The next was one of a wedding; James was wearing a tuxedo and tugging at his bow tie awkwardly, grinning, while Lily stood looking radiant in a bright white dress, smiling at him also. And there was another person, a tall, black haired, handsome-faced man with his hands in his pockets, flashing a genuine grin up at Harry. In this picture Sirius's face wasn't lined, and his eyes were youthful and void of the deadened look that Azkaban had given them.

Harry stared down at the picture for what seemed like hours, the low-burning embers of the dying fire his only light. His parents and Sirius only beamed benignly up at him, shuffling around in their picture. Once or twice James and Lily kissed each other, after prodding from Sirius, who seemed to be behaving very mischievously.

As he gazed at the photo, an unwelcome though floated its way through Harry's mind. _All three of these people are dead because of me,_ he thought. _I killed them_. He scowled as a swoop of hot anger surged through him, causing him to throw the photo book across the room and it hit the opposite wall, falling open to the floor with a loud _thump_.

"Harry?"

A soft voice echoed around the room from the double doors. Hermione stood in the doorway in her white nightgown, her bushy hair falling down to her shoulders, holding her brightly lit wand. She peered into the room tentatively, looking nervous; Harry felt himself flush with shame for throwing the photo album and making so much noise.

"Sorry," mumbled Harry, looking across the room, away from Hermione. He heard her tread softly into the room and stop just short of him. He felt her eyes on him.

"Harry," she said again, standing over him. He looked up at her. She extinguished her wand so that they were in semi-darkness and she sat next to him at the foot of the bed. "How long is this going to go on for?"

Harry looked at her blankly, blinked, and looked away. There was no point in pretending that he didn't know what she meant. But the problem was, he didn't know how long his slump would last for; to be honest, he hadn't been thinking about the future much, even though the nagging voice in the back of his head had been reminding him daily that more people were dying, and he was doing nothing to stop it, even when he had all the power to.

"You can't keep on like this," came Hermione's voice again from his right, and Harry continued to stare at the wall. "It's not helping anyone, Harry. And it's not healthy. You need to get up, you need to _do_ something."

"_I_ need to do something?" said Harry heatedly, turning his head to look at Hermione's stony face. "What about you and Ron, what have you two been doing? I bet you've both just been having a good laugh together, haven't you? Poor Harry and his poor dead parents –" As soon as the words left Harry's mouth, he regretted saying them. He knew it wasn't the least bit true, and the look of hurt on Hermione's face was enough to force him to look the other way again.

"Of course we haven't," said Hermione quietly, sounding both angry and very hurt at the same time. "You know all we want to do is help you, Harry. That's all we want to do."

"Well, a fat lot of help you've been," spat Harry before he could stop himself. He got to his feet and walked over to the fireplace, staring down at the glowing embers.

"What is wrong with you? You're not you anymore. What's happened to you?" From the way it sounded Hermione had gotten to her feet to, and was standing only a short distance behind him.

"What's wrong with me? You tell me what's wrong. My parents are dead. Sirius is dead, Dumbledore is dead. Have you noticed a pattern yet? Anyone who's ever cared for me, or been there for me, or anyone I love, they all end up dead." His voice was rising uncontrollably. "Who's going to be next? How many people, Hermione? _How many people have to die before this is over!_" he shouted loudly across the room, hot anger flushing up his face and neck. To his horror, he felt hot tears spring to his eyes and blinked furiously, managing to suppress them.

"I don't know, Harry," said Hermione finally, sounding miraculously calm, given that Harry had just shouted at her at the top of his lungs. "Don't you see? That's why we have to do something. We need to stop Voldemort before he kills any more people."

"Easy for you to say," said Harry, turning and look out of the doors that led to the balcony. "Voldemort hasn't hit home with you yet."

"Hasn't hit home?" said Hermione incredulously. "Do you think you were the only person close to Sirius? The only person close to Dumbledore? Well, you weren't, Harry, I was hurt, Ron was hurt, and so were a thousand other people."

Harry was silent. He knew she was right. He immediately felt guilty for shouting. She had only been trying to help.

"Listen, Hermione—" he said, but she interrupted.

"It's alright, Harry," she said, taking a step towards him. "I know this is hard for you…and I'm sorry that Ron and I haven't been much help, but well, you know, we just thought you'd need your space…" She trailed off, fidgeting nervously.

Suddenly, Harry felt a great upsurge of affection for his best friend. He stared at her for a few moments before saying softly, "Thanks, Hermione."

With that, Hermione threw her arms around him and began to cry into his shoulder. Harry was caught so unawares that for a moment he only stood there, in shock. But then he returned Hermione's embrace and patted her on the back consolingly. He could remember a time when he would have felt extremely disconcerted in a position like this, but after six years through thick and thin with his friend, he felt perfectly fine patting Hermione's back in an attempt to soothe her.

Finally, Hermione relinquished her grip on Harry and sniffled, wiping her eyes.

"I'm going to bed," she said, taking a step back from him. "Goodnight, Harry."

She collected her wand, lit it again, and slid quietly out of the bedroom, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

x x x

Over the next couple of days a grey mist seemed to settle itself on Godric's Hollow. The sky looked perpetually stormy, but never went ahead with the looming threat of a downpour. For some odd reason, after the argument with Hermione Harry felt it much easier to be sociable, at least to an extent. The painful knot in his chest had loosened slightly, it felt like. He had taken the photo album from Hagrid and slid it in a dark corner of the wardrobe that stood in his parents' bedroom, for the time being. He was determined not to look at it again, no matter how much he wanted to. What he needed to concentrate on now was Voldemort.

He had voiced this very thought to Ron and Hermione that evening; they had all gathered round the roaring sitting room fire that had been set in the enormous grate, lounging across the immensely comfortable scarlet sitting furniture.

"Yes," said Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged on the armchair that was nearest the fire, gazing down at the flames. "But how do we go about doing anything? How are we going to figure out what the other Horcruxes are? I mean, it must've taken Dumbledore ages just to find out that Voldemort was using Horcruxes in the first place…"

Harry's head was whirling. He knew Hermione was right, and his mind weighed heavily with the thought. He contemplated for a moment, and then said, more just to spell things out for himself than anything else, "In June Dumbledore told me…he said he reckoned that Voldemort would have wanted all of the things he was using as Horcruxes to have some kind of value. He used Slytherin's locket…he stole that cup that belonged to Hufflepuff, and he might have used that….the diary he had owned when he was sixteen….But if he had used objects from two of Hogwart's founders, Dumbledore reckons that he would have tried his hardest to find things that had once belonged to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, too."

_The cup…something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…_the thought that had haunted Harry for months crept back into his mind as he stared around the gigantic room, racking his brains. And who, _who_ had R.A.B. been? With a start, Harry realized that he had never told Ron or Hermione about the note that he had found inside the locket, the note that was still inside the hard, gold heart, buried deep inside his open trunk in the second floor bedroom.

"_It was I who discovered your secret_…," murmured Harry softly, tapping his fingers on the arm of the sofa that he was sitting in. "That locket…the one that Dumbledore and I got from the cave…it had a note in it."

"What?" said Ron quickly, looking eager. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"The locket had a note…telling him that his secret had been discovered…that the real horcrux would be destroyed…signed R.A.B." Harry looked up at the other two. "Well, I haven't memorized it exactly…"

Suddenly he got up from the sofa and headed for the entrance hall, taking the gigantic staircase up to the second floor landing. As he reached the second floor bedroom, he pulled one of the doors open quickly and headed to the corner where his trunk lay open. He heard Ron and Hermione follow him into the bedroom. Digging furiously, Harry finally found it. The hard gold locket, and the note that had been lying beside it in his trunk. He unfolded the scrap of paper and read the words scrawled there, for what seemed like the thousandth time.

_To the Dark Lord  
I know I will be dead long before you read this  
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.  
I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.  
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,  
you will be mortal once more. _

R.A.B

"R.A.B…," murmured Ron, who had been reading over Harry's shoulder next to Hermione. "Who the bloody hell is R.A.B.? And how come you haven't showed this to us before, Harry? We would have been a lot less confused…"

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I've been a bit preoccupied lately," snapped Harry, immediately feeling slightly ashamed of himself.

"But who _is_ R.A.B.? And how do we know if he really destroyed the real horcrux?" said Hermione quickly, snatching the scrap of paper, seeming keen to keep Harry from getting irritated.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Harry, beginning to pace. "I never…I never had a chance to talk to Dumbledore about it…" He looked out of the window. The sky had grown very dark, a thunder rumbled loudly. Harry walked over and shut it just in time, as fat drops of rain immediately began to splatter loudly against the glass. Wind howled savagely and whipped leaves from trees in a mad whirlwind.

Harry turned and lit his wand, stepping back into the middle of the room. Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke, each apparently deep in thought. Harry walked past his trunk to the wardrobe and back again. His head felt heavy and he was beginning to develop a throbbing pain over his left eye. It was getting difficult to think too hard. Harry tapped his wand absentmindedly on the paneled wall in front of him.

Immediately the panels began to tremble oddly. Harry jumped back away from the wall, his heart pounding. A strange light was seeping through the cracks between the pieces of wood, and suddenly, several panels slid to the side, revealing a musty, dilapidated, dusty, and very old looking cabinet. It contained only one object.

Harry's pulse had taken on a ridiculous pace. He stood stationary for a moment, his mouth open slightly in shock. Finally, he took a very slow step towards the cabinet set in the wall, feeling Ron and Hermione follow him timidly.

It was a Pensieve. The thoughts inside of it swirled serenely, twinkling silver gaseous liquid. Harry's mind immediately jumped back to the Pensieve that had always had a place in Dumbledore's office, but this Pensieve was different. It lacked strange markings and symbols around the edges of its stone basin, and was rather larger.

Harry reached out a shaking hand very slowly, his fingers not a half inch from the surface of the thoughts –

"Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded terrified. Harry lowered his hand and turned to look at her. She was pale, and had one finger pointed to the window. Harry took a step towards it, and looked down onto the dark grounds, but could see naught but rain slashing ruthlessly through the night.

"What?" he asked her, squinting his eyes, pressing his glasses closer to his face.

"Down there," Hermione whispered urgently, putting her finger to the glass.

Harry looked to where she was pointing, desperate to see through the rain. And then, with a jolt, he saw a shadowy figure wrapped tight in a cloak making its way rapidly down the front walk.

**Author's Note**: Sorry, I think I was a little desperate to finish this chapter for some reason, so I think it seemed rather rushed, not to mention sloppy. But I hope you liked it anyway! The next chapter will be better, I hope. So review: the good, the bad, and the ugly!


	11. Unexpectations

**Author's Note**: Hey everyone, thanks once again for the really nice reviews, they make my day! I'm glad you liked my last chapter, even if I didn't. This one is shorter, but worth a read I think, so read on!

**Chapter 11**

**Unexpectations**

Murky clouds swirled in the sky and rain slashed through the night as a great rumble of thunder sounded loudly, rattling the foggy windows in their panes. A bolt of lightning flashed through the darkness, illuminating the dark, wet street for a split second. Severus Snape scowled and turned his head from the window. The only source of light in his bedroom was a flickering candle that sat on his bedside table, wax running down its side and creating a pool on the wood. The low burning flame cast odd, shuddering shadows over the walls, and Severus tried to sit up and lean on his bed pillows, wincing with pain.

"Wormtail!" he called loudly, his voice carrying through the open door and down the hallway.

There was a shuffling noise from the sitting room, and a small, squat, watery-eyed man appeared, hovering timidly in the doorway. For a moment Snape gazed down at him with disgust, letting out a snort of contempt.

"Fetch me a glass of cold water," he commanded finally, attempting with difficulty to sit up a little higher in bed.

A fleeting look of deep hatred crossed Wormtail's round, sweaty face before he mumbled, "Yes, right away," and scurried out of the room. For a few seconds Severus stared with repugnance at the spot where Wormtail had been standing, then looked away and heaved a shuddering yawn.

His whole body throbbed with a constant dull ache, the aftereffects of Voldemort's torture upon him. He did not know how long it had lasted, but it had to have been quite some time for the pain not to have ebbed away completely by now. The only thing he could remember was the white-hot, piercing pain that he had suffered, penetrating his very heart. The agony had been such as he had never felt. He had endured the Cruciatus Curse before, but never had it been aguish such as this had been. When it was over he had found himself on the ground and had stayed there panting, breathing in the smell of the soil, not having the will to move his aching limbs until Voldemort had commanded him to.

"I hope you have learned your lesson, Severus," Voldemort's high-pitched voice had echoed around the circle.

Just then Wormtail announced his returned presence in the room by mumbling a soft "oops" as he spilled water clumsily over the edge of the glass he was carrying and onto his filthy shirt in his haste to bring the glass to the bedside table. Severus scowled at him as he set the water down, slopping even more of it out of the glass and onto the wood.

"You are an insufferable slob," sneered Severus, glaring down at Wormtail, who looked weakly at him through beady, watery black eyes, shifting from foot to foot. "Get out of my sight," he snapped, and Wormtail glared at Severus as though he would like nothing better than to take the glass of water and dump it over Snape's head. But instead he turned and scuttled out through the door, muttering furiously under his breath.

As soon as Wormtail left the room, Severus leaned over to grasp the glass of water (now only half full), dull pains pulsing in his arm and chest as he did so. He raised the cup to his lips and sipped, cool water soothing his sore, parched throat. As he set the glass back down on the bedside table, he wondered idly what Voldemort would have him do now. _Narcissa and Draco will surely be dead by now_, he thought with an unexpected painful twang in his chest that had nothing to do with the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. Despite his greatest efforts, the Malfoy family was dead. For what seemed like the billionth time, Severus wondered where his loyalty lay. _It lies with the Dark Lord, of course_, the voice in the back of his head reprimanded. _Don't be a fool._ And he knew it was so, for in time Voldemort would have control of most of Britain, his terrorist ways too powerful to overcome. Severus was sure that the Dark Lord would have taken over sixteen years ago, if it had not been for Potter.

Ah, yes, the Potter boy. How miraculous that a tiny one-year-old boy could have been such a danger to the greatest wizard who ever lived. Did Severus regret not being able to report the rest of that prophecy to the Dark Lord? He did not know, all he knew was that he was as fascinated as the rest of Britain when Voldemort had fallen. But now he was back, more powerful and treacherous than ever. It was continue to be a Death Eater, or die.

Rain lashed even harder against the windows and the side of the house, sounding like a constant, rapid drum roll. At first, Severus didn't recognize the knock for what it was, amidst the loud, rapping rain. But a few seconds later, Wormtail reappeared in the doorway and said, "There is someone at the door…sir."

Severus looked down at the rat-like man. "So answer it!" he barked, wondering how thick one person could be. Wormtail glared for a moment, and then bowed his way out of the room. As soon as Wormtail had left, Severus automatically reached out his hand for his wand that lay next to the water on his table, bringing it close to his side and gripping it tightly, pain shooting through his fingers. He could not suppress the feeling of apprehension that was growing in the pit of his stomach, and he could not help feeling that if the time came for a duel he would be no good, seeing as he could barely walk across the room.

Severus strained his ears, but could not hear much for the rain pounding ruthlessly outside. He barely heard the front door open, but did not hear Wormtail speak at all. He gripped his wand even tighter. Feeling every hair on the back of his neck stand up, finally Severus heard footsteps through the gale, entering through the front hall and into the sitting room. It wasn't until the footfalls reached the hallway outside of his bedroom that Severus made the greatest effort to heave himself out of bed, throwing the covers to one side. His muscles screamed in protest as he used the bedside table to hold himself up, still trembling slightly. His heart beat violently in his chest as a figure turned into the hall and stood outside his door.

He was soaked and shivering, his cloak plastered to his thin body. Severus stared at the boy with his lank blond hair sticking to his face. For a moment there was silence marred by only the steady _drip, drip, drip _of water from one of his sleeves.

"Draco," said Snape incredulously, feeling his hand trembling, his hold on his wand loosening. "You're…what are you doing here?" He lowered himself back onto his bed, wincing. He thought it may have been a bit melodramatic to have said "You're alive", which had been his first instinct. He watched as the pale Malfoy boy walked, quivering, to the small armchair that stood near the wardrobe. He sank into it with a squelching noise and closed his eyes, gripping the arms of the hair with his hands.

"My…my mother…," breathed Draco. His face was ashen and pallid and he looked exhausted as he stammered. But Severus thought he knew what Draco was trying to say. "He…he murdered her…"

There was a hiccup of fear accompanied by an uncomfortable sort of scuffling noise near the door.

"GET OUT, WORMTAIL!" roared Snape, lifting his wand and waving it at the wooden door so that it slammed shut loudly, causing Malfoy to give a start of surprise. Wormtail squealed from the other side of the door, and his footsteps pattered away quickly. As soon as this happened Severus sighed heavily and closed his eyes, sinking back onto his pillows. He had not expected this at all, he had thought that Voldemort had killed the entire Malfoy family. What he didn't understand was how the Dark Lord had murdered both Draco's parents, but the boy had managed to escape.

"Draco…," Snape said quietly, opening his eyes to look at the Malfoy boy, pasty and slumped in the chair. "How did you...that is to say how did you manage to get here…alive?"

"Hid under the floor," grunted Draco, his voice hoarse. Severus could not understand exactly what this response meant, but did not press the boy. "Reductored my way out…Apparated here…"

Severus massaged his temples, trying to think. What could he do? Draco would not be able to stay here for long, or else they were both bound to be murdered. _It might be worth dying_, he thought. _Just to end it all._ But no, he couldn't condemn Draco to death. He racked his brains vigorously, trying to think of a place, any place that Draco could hide safely. The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix? No, how could he even think of hiding Draco in a place where he was probably hated almost as much as the Dark Lord himself? And besides, Voldemort was bound to know where the headquarters were now that the Order had been short a Secret-Keeper, at least for a brief period of time. There wasn't anywhere…he could not think.

_The Potter boy._

The last place the Dark Lord would expect to find Malfoy was staying with Harry Potter.

But no, there were too many flaws. Where was Potter staying? And how, _how_ on earth would he convince the brash, thick-headed Potter to let Draco stay with him, let alone refrain from jinxing him at first sight? He couldn't very well go knocking on the boy's front door. And there was not enough time. He had a few days at most…but…

"WORMTAIL!" yelled Snape suddenly, remembering. How could he have been so stupid? Of course the little rat was bound to tell Voldemort right away.

There was that scuttling noise again, and Wormtail's greasy nose appeared in a crack in the doorway. "Y-yes?" came a trembling voice.

"Come here, Wormtail."

The man did so, and as he did, Severus tightened the grip on his wand. He then lifted himself gingerly and painfully out of his bed and limped over to where Draco sat slumped in the armchair. He rapped the boy hard on top of his blond head, giving him a start, and watched as he slowly disappeared, blending perfectly into the room. He then turned back to Wormtail who was looking confused and disdainful at the same time, pointed his wand straight at the stout, rat-like little man and shouted loudly, "_Obliviate!_"

A jet of faint blue light accompanied by a rushing noise emitted from the wand and hit Wormtail square between the eyes. As soon as this happened Wormtail's eyes slid briefly out of focus, and then back into focus again. Snape limped back over to his bed and grimaced with pain as he sat.

"Wormtail," he said, setting his wand carefully onto the bedside table as another crash of thunder rattled the floorboards. "Was there a knock on the door just now?"

Wormtail glared suspiciously with his watery little eyes at Snape for a moment then said, "No."

"But you did bring me this glass of water a moment ago, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Wormtail slowly, looking even more apprehensive. But he did not glance near the spot where the near-invisible Draco sat silently. Severus fought back the urge to breathe a sigh of relief.

"You may go, Wormtail," said Snape, waving nonchalantly towards the door. Wormtail did so, shooting wary backward glances behind him. He closed the door as he exited and Severus leaned back once more on his pillows, cringing with pain. He hoped that his memory charm would be sufficient in keeping Wormtail from telling Voldemort, after all, how could be tell what he could not remember? But he wouldn't put it past the brainless idiot to report to Voldemort in the three minutes that he had known who had arrived. But he thought that he could imagine the battle that had waged in the man's tiny brain: he could tell Voldemort, but then he was bound to be hated and tortured by Snape, and he had nowhere else to stay. He could keep quiet, but that would only save his own skin for a short period of time. Severus hoped that this internal battle would have kept him occupied from the time that he had answered the door until this point.

"Draco?" said Severus quietly and tentatively into the dark.

"I'm here, sir," came a weak voice near the armchair.

"You will have to wear the Disillusionment Charm whilst you are here. We cannot risk you being seen by anyone but myself until I can work out where you will be most safely placed." He felt his stomach give a funny turn.

There was only so much time…

**Author's Note**: Wow…I am the master of bad endings…(kicks self). Oh well. Review: the good, the bad, and the ugly:)


	12. Thoughts and Surprises

**Author's Note**: This chapter is for all you hopeless romantics out there like me. :) I realize it's been an incredibly long time since my last update, and I'm **so** **sorry** it took so long, but my internet connection has been limited and I've also been unbelievably busy. I finally found time to write this chapter over the three day weekend. The next update won't take so long, I promise. How about by November 5th or 6th? Well I hope that there are still some of you left reading, and that you enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 12**

**Thoughts and Surprises**

Thunder continued to rumble threateningly, lightning illuminating the sky for split seconds at a time, and raindrops the size of marbles were coming down upon the roof of Godric's Hollow. Harry had hurtled himself out of the second floor bedroom and was flying down the stairs as fast as he could, ignoring his friends' inquisitive calls, both of whom were on his heels. His feet were pounding loudly on each stair and he grabbed hold of the smooth chestnut banister as he sped even faster down the staircase.

By the time he reached the first floor, Harry was out of breath, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Finally he slowed his pace as he crossed the threshold into the entrance hall, putting his hand up on the wall to catch his breath momentarily. He was sure he had recognized that profile, the one that had been hurrying down the front walk in the rain.

"Harry, what--?"

But Ron's inquiry was cut short by a sharp, quick tap on the front door ahead of them. The sound echoed around the hallway and both Ron and Hermione cast Harry worried looks. Harry, however, advanced towards the elaborate mahogany door, his hand outstretched towards the bronze knob. Hermione and Ron both shouted, "No!" simultaneously, but he did not heed their warnings – that figure they had seen from the second floor had look all too familiar.

Harry wrenched the door open and a great splatter of rain and wind greeted him from the darkness. And then he saw her, standing on the threshold. Her cloak was soaking wet and her dripping hair was plastered to her face. She was shivering, her arms hanging limply at her sides. It was then that Harry decided that Ginny Weasely was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

For a moment there was only shocked silence as Harry and Ginny stared back at each other; Harry was finding it quite impossible to move; his very heart felt suspended in his chest. He had known that it was her from the time Hermione had pointed through that window, but he hadn't been prepared to see her standing there, so soaking wet and vulnerable and beautiful. Then, forcing himself to take a step out of the door and into the pouring rain, he took Ginny's trembling body into his arms and kissed her.

Harry's head was spinning and his heart was racing as he held Ginny in his arms. It was almost surreal, being there with her. He wasn't sure how long they stood together like that in the darkness, the howling wind whipping Ginny's cloak around them both and rain soaking through Harry's clothes, too. Finally they pulled back from each other, and Harry looked into Ginny's rather pale, fair face and brushed her red hair from it.

"You're wet," he said hoarsely and she smiled as he took her hand and led her in through the door.

The look on Ron's face was equivalent to one of being run over by a truck as he swayed precariously on the spot, and Hermione's jaw was hanging slightly open to accompany the shocked look she had on her face.

"Ginny….what the bloody hell…?" Ron stammered as he staggered backwards dangerously. Hermione caught him, looking bewildered and said quietly, "Ginny…what are you doing here? How did you…?"

"Maybe if I wasn't freezing cold and soaking wet I could tell you," said Ginny through chattering teeth, smiling a little.

"Oh, right, of course!" said Hermione in a high pitched voice; she seemed to have come out of a trance. "Come with me, you can borrow some of my clothes…"

And Hermione took Ginny's hand and led her away towards the staircase, still looking shocked. Harry and Ginny kept eye contact until the very last second where the staircase took a turn to the landing. Harry's head was pounding. How could she be here? He had told her that she couldn't come….But he realized that he had wanted this so intensely ever since they had left that it had been making him crazy. For a few moments Harry only stood where he was, near the door, his robes dripping quietly onto the marble floor. Blinking once, he looked around and realized that Ron had slid down the length of the wall and was now sitting on the floor, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"My sister…," he mumbled. "No…but….No…."

Harry walked over to his friend and almost slipped on the slick floor. His socks were completely soaked – he had not thought to put on shoes. Taking his friend's hand he pulled Ron up. The redhead gazed at him blankly.

"But…how did she…? Mum and dad…," he said weakly.

"Come on, let's go into the sitting room, Ginny'll explain in a few moments," said Harry, leading his friend towards the door closest to them and into the immense sitting room. He lowered Ron into the crimson leather sofa near the fire and took a seat in the loveseat that was situated next to the sofa. He was shivering fiercely, his robes and clothes soaked almost all the way through, but he did not think to light a fire. His brain, it seemed, had been clouded by the arrival of the person that he had most wanted to see for a week that felt to have lasted for an eternity.

What was he to tell her? To go home? He didn't know if he could bear having to part with her all over again. But that was the only option, wasn't it? He couldn't risk having her killed. He had accepted the fact that he had no control over Ron and Hermione, but with Ginny he felt he could persuade her to go home, he **had** to persuade her to go home. He wouldn't be able to carry on if anything happened to her.

He gazed into the empty fire grate for a few moments, his mind raging a fierce battle. She couldn't stay. But he loved her. But if he really loved her he would have her leave, have her go to where she was safe. Was he really selfish enough to keep her here?

At that moment Hermione preceded Ginny in through the door from the entrance hall. Hermione went over to Ron and lowered herself into the sofa next to him, starting to pat his back consolingly. Ginny was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a royal blue sweater with a large 'H' on it, which Harry recognized as being made by Mrs. Weasley for Hermione years ago. Her long red hair was still damp, hanging to just above her elbows. She sat down next to Harry, who, despite his determination to have Ginny go home, wrapped his arms around her.

"How--?" began Hermione from her post next to Ron.

"I Apparated," said Ginny simply, and Ron and Harry gaped at her. "I've been able to do it for ages. Ever since you lot took lessons; Dean always gave me an exact blow by blow of how it was done and, well…" She shrugged. "I didn't find it all that difficult. I know I haven't got a license, so I don't exactly go around Apparating everywhere, but I've done it a fair few times. Of course you can't Apparate within about four miles of here so I had to walk from there…" She shivered a little, nestling herself deeper into the loveseat.

"So….So mum and dad let you come then?" asked Ron, who had straightened up and was hanging onto Ginny's every word as Hermione massaged his neck with one hand.

"Of course they didn't," said Ginny, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. "They don't know I'm here….But mom's going to have a cow when she finds out."

"She's going to have more than a cow!" said Ron loudly. His face was slowly turning a shade of scarlet, which was always a danger sign. "She's going to have a few dozen hippogriffs! You have to go home Ginny, mum and dad have enough to deal with without you getting yourself into trouble!"

Ginny was scowling, her face turning a similar shade of red as she straightened up. "I thought you might have been happy, you know, maybe missed me? You being my own brother and all."

Ron glared at her, sputtering. "It's…it's dangerous, Gin, I—"

"Oh come on, you can't use that one on me, Ron, I was with you guys at the Department of Mysteries in my fourth year, I helped fight the death eaters last year, I've done loads of dangerous stuff, and I'm still here aren't I? Why can't I stay? I'm not a little girl anymore, and I wish everyone would stop treating me like I am!" She was breathing fast, her jaw set, blood rushing rapidly to her thin face.

"I think Ron's right, Ginny," said Harry quietly into her ear. She started and turned to look at him.

"What?" She frowned, her brown eyes searching him.

"It's not that I don't care about you," he said softly, holding her hand in both of his, looking down at it. "You know I care about you…maybe too much. I don't know if you've noticed, but so many of the people I care about aren't here anymore for me to care about them. I don't want that to happen to you…I don't know what I would do if it did."

"But Harry –"

"Do you remember what I told you at Dumbledore's funeral? It still holds true, Ginny…I have to do this on my own."

She bit her lip and looked at him, blinking rapidly as tears started in her eyes. Harry's mind screamed in protest. How could he be telling the one person that his heart longed for, the one person that made him feel as though all was right with the world, how could he be telling her that she had to leave him?

"Yes," said Ginny, standing up suddenly out of Harry's arms. "Yes. I-I suppose mum and dad will have a cow when I get back then." She wiped her wet face quickly and took a few steps towards to the fire. Ron and Hermione both stood up at the same time, looked at each other, puzzled, for a moment, then both took it in turn to hug Ginny.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said. "It was stupid of me to think that I could stay with you lot…" she shook her head.

"Gin, you're my sister, and I love you," said Ron simply, looking at her.

"I love you, too, big bro," she said, smiling, then turned to Hermione. "And if I have ever loved anyone like a sister, it's been you."

Hermione beamed, though her eyes looked a little watery as Ginny reached towards the dulled silver pot that held a large amount of glittering Floo powder. But before she could step into the fire Harry caught her arm and pulled her back slightly.

"I'll write you," he said quietly, and though she didn't look back at him, he felt her nod slightly and walk towards the grate once more, but he caught her again, this time around the waist. He pulled her close to him and whispered into her ear, "I love you."

This time he heard her. "I love you, too," as she stepped swiftly into emerald green flames and shouted, _"The Burrow!"_

The storm that had plagued Godric's Hollow the night before had let up finally, leaving a layer of heavy dew that had settled itself over the grounds, making the soil soft and spongy. Drops of water slid off of the leaves of trees, glistening in the weak, filtering morning sun. Harry had not been able to sleep, though he had tried, lying awake in the enormous bed through the night, his head swirling with thoughts.

Now he stared out of the full length windows beside the bed, holding aside the cream-colored curtains, watching the feeble sun rise. When was this going to go anywhere? Was there going to be nothing but pain? These thoughts had overwhelmed his mind all through the night, and he was growing tired of it. He was tired of waiting for something to happen, something needed to happen…but…wait…

The Pensieve.

He spun around on his heel suddenly and stared at the spot near the fireplace where, only the night before, he had unlocked the hiding place of the swirling basin full of thoughts. How could he have forgotten? Immediately, Harry hurried over to the spot, pulling out his wand and tapping the wall rapidly and wildly, in every place possible, and then it happened again. The panels on the wall trembled for a moment, and strips of light glowed through the cracks. Harry stepped back, adrenaline pumping through his veins, as the panels slid back and revealed, again, the Pensieve, the milky white substance in it looking peaceful and undisturbed.

He stepped back towards the stone basin that sat on the shelf at his chest level, reaching his hand near it. It was then that he noticed it: the corner of a yellowing slip of paper, just barely poking out from under the Pensieve. He paused for a moment, and then reached for the paper, tugging it out from underneath the heavy stone basin with some difficulty. And with a jolt, he read the faded, familiar slanted writing upon the paper:

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Godric's Hollow Manor, London. _

**Author's Note**: Okay, so, I know Godric's Hollow is not in London, so don't flame me! I was just too lazy to try and look up where it really is – if anyone knows you can let me know so I can correct that. And there's probably a few spelling things, because I'm also too lazy to proofread just now…so bear with me. Well I hope you enjoyed that…even though it took forever and a day! So review: the good, the bad, and the ugly.


	13. Curiosity and the Cat

**Author's Note (READ ME!):** Alright, just to clarify, my fic is **not** slash. Sorry if there were any of you waiting for that sort of thing...but it's not going to happen. I had a few reviews that brought up the subject, and I just thought I would enlighten you all on that. And about the last chapter...it was mostly for me because I love Harry/Ginny as a couple and I couldn't help throwing in a little romance and drama, even if it does nothing for the plot whatsoever, because that's just me. So, sorry if you hated it. :) Okay, moving on, here's the new chapter. It's worth reading, I promise. So enjoy.

**Chapter 13**

**Curiosity and the Cat**

_My mother is dead. My father is dead._

_They're...dead._

_I'm an orphan._

Draco shook his limp blond hair out of his eyes as he paced back and forth in front of the tiny sitting room window, something he had been doing since 3 a.m. that morning. He had not slept, but instead had chosen different areas around the room to pace from one spot to another, the same thoughts running in and out of his mind. The previous night's rain had let up, and Draco peered momentarily out of the small strip of window that was not obscured by a fading green velvet curtain. He could see the sun beginning to rise beyond the clock building in the middle of the town square, illuminating the wetness outside.

_It could not have happened. Could it? Did it really happen?_ Draco began to pace again, running a hand through his lank hair and drumming his camouflaged fingers softly on the windowsill as he went. He felt as though he were living in a dream; surreal and clouded. The past week had to have been a dream, there was no way that it could have really happened. He could not comprehend it, he could not absorb it. But he knew that once he did, the pain would be too much.

Just then soft footfalls were audible behind the door in the wall disguised by a bookcase. Draco stopped pacing at once and held his breath, keeping absolutely still. Suddenly, the bookcase door swung open and Wormtail crept out of it, looking this way and that before making his way into the sitting room, the door swinging shut behind him. He walked across the room, wringing his small, mismatched hands together and muttering quietly to himself, something he was always doing, Draco noted. As soon as the man disappeared over the threshold into the kitchen, Draco relaxed slightly and exhaled slowly. Wormtail had come through the sitting room several times that night, each time forcing Draco to freeze so as not to be spotted. He was only completely invisible under the Disillusionment charm if he held entirely still. There had been one close call around midnight during which Draco had accidentally kicked over a corner of the rotting hearthrug with his toe, but Wormtail seemed to have passed it off as something of little importance. Wormtail's numerous trips in and out of his bedroom led Draco to believe that he was not the only one who was unable to sleep that night.

Draco leaned against the wall papered with an ugly green and beige paisley pattern, sliding slowly down it so that he sat on the floor, resting his head on his knees and closing his eyes. He suddenly felt very tired and his head was so heavy; it was the first time he had sat down all night. He heard the soft sounds of Wormtail arriving back into the sitting room and making his way back through the hidden door and up the narrow staircase that led to his room.

He was so tired...

What seemed like about five minutes later, a sharp blow to the top of Draco's head jerked him out of sleep. His head was resting against the wall and his legs were sprawled out in front of him at an odd angle. Stronger rays of sunlight were now streaming through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating long strips of the floor.

"_Draco_," he heard Snape's voice hiss, barely audible. "_You were **snoring**_."

Draco's eyes snapped up and he gazed at the tall figure of Snape, hovering over him, dressed in a long black traveling cloak. He, Draco, said nothing, but hurriedly wiped the saliva that had accumulated at the corner of his mouth away and sat up straight.

"I'm going out," said Snape in the same low murmur, pulling his cloak tighter around him.

"What for, si—" Draco began quietly, but Snape cut him off.

"_Don't_ make any noise, and stay here."

He walked swiftly towards the door, stepped through it, and shut it behind him. Draco heard the lock slide into place with a soft _click_. He scowled to himself. _Stay here_. As if he had anywhere else to go.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The air was brisk and unusually chilly for a day in July, Severus Snape noted as he stepped out onto the grey brick street, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head, making sure to conceal his face. His limbs still ached considerably, and tiny stinging pangs, like needle pricks, hit him all over. He just slightly resented not being able to walk the street without hiding his face, but the satisfaction of killing Dumbledore was enough to make up for it. The old man had had it coming. The stupid, blithering, nosy old man. But now he was dead. As he walked, Severus smiled, something he had not done for days.

As soon as he was several steps out of his front door, Severus peered around at the houses from under his hood, making sure that there were no curious Muggles poking their noses through their curtains to look at him. He then turned on the spot and felt the suffocating sensation of Disapparation pressing in upon him, emphasizing the pain in his body.

Just as soon as the sensation had begun, it lifted, leaving Snape standing in a cool, rather darker, cobble stoned alleyway. A rotting wooden sign hung straight above his head, its hinges creaking as it swayed in the light wind, the words _Knockturn Alley_ painted on it in crude, bold black letters. He turned left and headed down the alleyway. He hadn't been walking for more than a few seconds when a small, feeble old man approached him, his wrinkled face poking out from under his hood. He spoke with a weak, gravelly voice and a falsely winsome tone.

"Severus, is that you? How pleasant to see you around these parts again, you should come inside, have a cup of—"

"No thank you, Whilkes," said Snape, continuing to walk. "I'm on specific business today, just one stop to Madame Mercredi's then straight home."

"Of course," croaked Whilkes, bowing low as he stopped and let Severus walk on.

The air, it seemed, was growing chillier by the minute. Snape pulled his cloak closer around him, the effort making his arms ache. Grotesque items and hooded figures leered at him through the shadowy windows of the shops lining the street. Vendors hovering near their carts knew better then to try and approach him with their lies.

Finally, he reached a very small shop with windows curtained by deep red, moth-eaten drapes and a black wooden door was set in the brick wall. A tiny sign above the door in scarlet cursive letters told him that the shop was _Madame Mercredi's Magical Ointments and Healings_. Severus pushed the door open and walked inside. The shop foyer was void of people, but oddly enough, was overcrowded. Shelves upon shelves of odd jars and objects and spinning racks of powders and viles filled the store almost completely.

With difficulty, Snape reached the front desk which was cluttered with more pots and dishes filled with dead leeches and shimmering liquids. He found a small silver bell and tapped it a few times, waiting. After a few moments, a tall, beaky blond woman came from a door behind the counter, her formidable bottom making its way out first, followed by the rest of her. She was carrying a large cardboard box which was rattling suspiciously of its own accord and she was having difficulty getting it out of the door. Finally she managed to squeeze through the door, setting the box down on the ground as there was no room on the front desk, and turned, beaming brightly when she saw Snape, each one of her perfect white teeth glaring at him.

"Severus!" she positively shrieked and clapped her hands together, leaning towards him over the counter, her considerable bosom also making its debut. "How absolutely charming! It's wonderful to see you!"

"And you, Delia," said Snape forcibly, giving the woman a small, obligatory smile. He saw her open her mouth again, teeth glinting, preparing to say something else. No doubt she was going to invite him into the back for a cup of tea, which was the last thing he wanted to do. "I'm sorry, Delia, just a quick stop today. All I need is a bottle of essence of Juneflower, and then I need to be on my way." He was having difficulty averting his gaze away from his own reflection in her front left tooth.

Delia's bright smile faltered slightly and she straightened up again, turning to a shelf behind her. "Of course," she said, plucking a small, corked bottle filled with a thick magenta liquid from the top mantelpiece and setting it down in front of Snape. She smiled at him again. "That'll take the pain right away."

Severus wondered just how fast the news of his torture had spread, and he felt a stab of annoyance. He brought out several gold coins from the pocket of his cloak and laid them down on the counter, pocketing the bottle. "Keep the change, Delia," he said as he turned to leave the shop. _God knows she needs it_, he thought bitterly to himself as he caught one last glance at her tatty robes and pushed the door open, a sharp pain shooting down his arm.

The sun was higher in the sky now, casting a weak, filtered light down onto the streets of Knockturn Alley. Severus fingered the small bottle in his pocket, thinking longingly of the hot bath he would have when he got home. Just one drop of essence of Juneflower into the water, and he would finally be relieved of the stinging pain that covered his entire body. Snape turned on the spot, preparing to Disapparate immediately home, but just as he closed his eyes a rushed, excited voice reached his ears and made him pause.

"—the Potter boy is. Oh, the Dark Lord will be so pleased with me, pleased beyond words I expect. I will be honored beyond my dreams; you just wait, once I give him my information about that boy. I'm not going to say just now to you, but I'm sure the Dark Lord will be able to get there in a flash, I daresay he's been there before—" The man speaking gave a harsh, grunting laugh.

Severus recognized that voice. It was coming from one of two people standing naught but three feet away from him, both in long black cloaks. Lowering his hood, he advanced upon them.

"Hello, Watson. Rutter."

The man closest to Snape, the one who had been talking, stopped speaking at once and turned to look at him, a smile breaking out on his squashed-looking face.

"Severus, what a pleasant surprise. Haven't seen you around these parts in ages...What brings you--?"

"Do you think I might be able to have a word, Rutter? In private?" Snape interrupted, glancing quickly at the second, rather taller man. He scowled and skulked around the corner, hiding his pockmarked face beneath his hood. Snape looked back down at the short, husky man in front of him. "How about somewhere more personal? Ahh, yes." He made his way into the narrow alley between Madame Mercredi's and another abandoned shop, motioning for the man to follow him. He did, though looking extremely apprehensive, a false smile plastered onto his face. Severus pointed his wand around the corner and muttered, _"muffliato"_ in the direction of the other man, just as an extra precaution. He then turned back to the man before him.

"Do you wish to kindly tell me what you were discussing with your friend Watson before we met, Celius?" Severus stepped closer to the man and looked down on him, having about a two foot advance in height.

"I—well, I don't think that's any of your conc—"

But Snape had caught Rutter by the neck of his robes and his wand had come out rapidly and was now pointing straight at the man's throat. Their faces were mere centimetres away from each other, and Severus could smell the other man's putrid breath.

"You'd do better to tell me," said Snape quietly. "I think you know that."

For a moment Rutter only sputtered, being unable to catch his breath, but Severus pressed the wand tip harder against the man's neck.

"Fine! Fine!" he gasped finally, putting his hands up in a surrendering position. "Harry Potter! I've found out where he is!"

Snape's heart seemed to skip a beat. He narrowed his eyes. "How?" Rutter struggled for another moment, but Snape pressed his wrist against the man's windpipe so that he could barely breathe.

"I'm—I'm an Animagus," choked Rutter finally. "A black cat...I--I was transformed, more than a week ago, spying in Diagon Alley when I spotted Potter's friend, the mudblood Granger girl. I followed her as far as I could then I stayed outside of the room she was staying in—The Leaky Cauldron. I saw her send a letter. I stunned the owl and read the letter—Potter is staying in his parents' old manor."

Snape loosened his hold. Was this really real? If it was, he had just stumbled upon the most brilliant stroke of luck he'd had in a long time. His eyes bored in Rutter's small black ones, and he could see than the man was not lying. But why hadn't Rutter gone and told the Dark Lord straight away? But Severus thought he knew the answer. Rutter was a slimy, self-concerned person, rather like Wormtail, ignorant and blind. He knew the Dark Lord would reward him for his information, but he wanted each of the other Death Eaters to see just how much he was getting rewarded. So, as the Dark Lord hadn't called the Death Eaters for another gathering yet, Rutter would have waited, waited until he could make a dramatic declaration and be rewarded in front of the entire fold. Snape scowled to himself.

"Is that all?"

"Y-yes," stuttered Rutter, his white-knuckled hands clasped tight over Snape's as to keep himself from being strangled by his own robes. "Now, if you would kindly—"

Severus raised his wand and held it to Rutter's forehead.

"_Obliviate_," he said, exerting more energy than he usually would into making the spell effective. He could not afford for anyone to find out about this.

As Snape released Rutter, the man looked slightly dazed for a moment and he swayed a little bit on the spot. Eventually, his eyes came back into focus and he looked around and up at Snape in surprise.

"Severus! My goodness, I haven't seen you around here in ages…! …but…wait a moment…Watson? I could have sworn I was just…? Well, no matter, you and I must have a good, long chat Severus, it's just so delightful to see you here—"

"Oh, not today Rutter," interrupted Snape. "I am sorry, but I should be on my way. I've got tea on the burner…"

And Severus wasted no more time, turning on the spot and feeling himself being squeezed into that tight, uncomfortable tube once more. All was black for only a moment until he felt his feet connect painfully with ground again outside of his own front door. He tapped his wand on the knob, his heart pounding rather quicker than usual, hearing the door unlock and pushing it open. His gaze swept the seemingly empty sitting room, and he called in his quietest voice, "Draco, get up. We're leaving."

**Author's Note**: Ummmmm, so if I've still any readers left, you may have noticed that I've altered this chapter a bit. It made more sense, I think. Sorry about the delay in updates, I've been extremely, unmorally and unethically busy. And I suppose I just needed a break from writing, but I think I'm back on the train again and hope to be hearing from you all soon. So for now just review: the good, the bad, and the ugly!


	14. The Hidden Chamber

**A/N: **Uhhhh yeah, so long time no updating. Sorry about that…I guess you could say I had sort of a writer's block…among other things. Not much to say about this chapter except that I made a lot of it up as I went along. Hope there are some of you still reading!

**Chapter 14**

**The Hidden Chamber**

Blue and purple twilight streamed in through the open curtains on the window of the bedroom on the third floor of Godric's Hollow. The previous night's storm had made the air outside close and muggy; birds chirped in the trees on the grounds and the evening light glittered in the newly formed puddles. Harry Potter pressed his glasses closer to his face, as they had slipped down the bridge of his nose as he stared down at the slip of decaying parchment. He was careful to be gentle with it; it was so old that it looked like it would crumble under a tighter grasp. He read and reread the solitary sentenced printed there.

_The Order was here last time?_ he thought, wondering why this thought had never occurred to him. He realized that never once had he been told where the first Order of the Phoenix headquarters had been. His heart fluttered a little faster than normal. _But how does this help me?_

Harry glanced back over at the Pensieve in the wall – the unusually plain basin filled with shimmering vapor that he knew to be preserved memories. He moved toward it and scrutinized it contents carefully. Harry prodded the surface of the substance apprehensively with the tip of his wand, then, taking a deep breath, plunged himself headfirst into the basin.

It was a familiar sensation – the one of falling down, down into a pitch black hole. Finally Harry felt his feet land on a cold, hard floor. He blinked once or twice, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then, as he regained full vision, he realized that he had just arrived in what was unmistakably the low-ceilinged, musty-smelling basement of Godric's Hollow. He looked around, searching for the owner of this memory, and finding her before long. His stomach gave a jolt when he saw his mother – she was older than he had seen her last; her face was starting to become lined and had lost some of its rosiness. But Harry had to remind himself, somewhat guiltily, that he had really never seen his mother; only memories or allusions.

Lily Potter had to crouch down slightly to navigate through the moldy, cobble-stoned sublevel, meaning that Harry had to bend a considerable amount to prevent his head scraping the ceiling, for he was a good half a foot taller than his mother. He followed her over to the north wall of the room, watching her long red hair streaked with gray in the darkness. When she reached the rough cement wall, Lily raised her wand and tapped it on a spot there while simultaneously placing her hand on the cement. Immediately the outline of a small archway appeared, carving itself out of the wall. Lily made her way in hurriedly and Harry, puzzled, followed her.

Harry looked around with awe as they stepped through the archway. It was a large room lit with candled brackets around the wall and with only a large table in the center. Seated around the table were many distinctive faces that Harry instantaneously recognized. There was Mad-Eye Moody looking younger but still missing a chunk from his nose, Remus Lupin sat next to Moody with less gray hairs than the last time Harry had seen him, and James Potter sat near the head of the table next to Albus Dumbledore. James' hair was thick and black and his glasses rested on his nose; he was lean and long, though his face seemed to have grown worn from stress. Harry swallowed as he looked away from these two faces with difficulty. There were innumerable more familiar faces, among which Harry, repulsed, spotted the round, greasy face of Peter Pettigrew who wore his characteristic manner of twitchy anxiousness. Everyone seated at the table had been speaking in hushed, uneasy voices, but had all fallen silent when Lily had entered.

As Harry stepped nearer to the long table, which was covered in many various parchments, quills, and a crystal ball, his father rose. His long face was pallid and concerned and he began to walk around the table.

"Lily," he said. "We're in danger. Voldemort seems to have taken a personal interest in us, according to Albus." Dumbledore nodded. Pettigrew twitched, his ears perking. "Get Harry. We have to leave…"

Harry felt the memory dissolving around him as his body was pulled upward and out of the Pensieve. He felt himself appear back in the third floor bedroom in front of the compartment in the wall and blinked a few times, staring at the stone basin.

"That's it?" Harry asked aloud in bewilderment. But even as he said it his heart fell. Of course the rest of the memory wouldn't be visible…why would Lily Potter reveal the place of her hiding for anyone who was inquisitive enough to see while she was being hunted? But Voldemort had tracked them down eventually anyway, with Wormtail's help…

Harry stepped back from the wall where the Pensieve's contents cast glimmering lights on the paneling. Then a thought occurred to him…

Moments later he was at the door to the Potter's desolate basement. He pulled at the handle which did not want to give at first, but then came open with a little coaxing. The long room was freezing and dank, and Harry lit his wand as he crouched down to walk inside. As he headed toward what he presumed was the middle of the room, he turned in circles several times, attempting to see more than two feet in front of him, but it was impossible. It had been the north wall that contained the door, but Harry no longer remembered which way was north in the darkness.

"_Point me_," he whispered to his wand, laying it flat on his palm. It immediately began to spin very quickly, finally slowing to a stop, pointing deliberately to his right.

Harry hurriedly walked, crouching, over until he could see the wall. Then he placed his hand uncertainly upon the stone there and tried to imitate the wand movements his mother had made in the memory. To his surprise, the outline of the door appeared instantaneously, giving way to a space behind the wall that was, if possible, even darker than the basement.

Harry hesitated only momentarily at the doorway, thinking that he might do good to fetch Ron and Hermione, but decided that his curiosity about the room was too great. As he stepped into the room, Harry muttered a spell, hoping that the candles that he had seen in the memory would light. They did rather feebly, but illuminated the room enough so that everything was visible. There was the long table in the middle with the chairs around the edge. There were several cabinets around the perimeter of the room and a blank piece of parchment lay in the corner, looking forlorn. Everything was strung with wispy white cobwebs and caked with a thick layer of dust.

Harry's heart raced. He hurried to one of the cabinets nearest him and pulled it open with some difficulty as a cloud of dust was emitted, but as he peered into its depths he saw nothing…it was empty. No matter…Harry moved quickly to the next cupboard and wrenched it open, too. Nothing. Frowning, Harry moved across the room and opened all of the cabinets, one after another, but each was empty.

_There has to be something useful here,_ thought Harry, his eyes scanning the dusty room again. And then he noticed it – a small drawer attached to one of the cupboards at the bottom. Harry walked over to it and bent over, tugging at the fragile, old brass handle, expecting it to be locked. However, the drawer slid open easily, revealing, along with a considerable amount of dust, its sole content.

A very old book lay in the drawer, coated with grime. Wrinkling his nose, Harry lifted the book out of the drawer and wiped at the cover with the sleeve of his shirt. He was just able to read the peeling letters in gold there:_ Myra Murble's Ultra-Modern Guide to Wands: Which Wand Is Right For You?_

Feeling skeptical and a little let down, Harry opened the book and winced as he heard its weathered spine crack ominously. The letters inside were very faded and printed on yellowing paper. He tried to flip through the pages, but found it rather difficult, as the brittle parchment had a tendency to break off into little pieces in his hand. As Harry looked through the book, he noticed that the previous reader had used the bookmark ribbon that was attached to the book's deteriorating binding to mark a page toward the beginning. He pulled at the mark and opened the book to a page that was headed with bold letters: **Phoenix Feather Core**: **The Dependable Wand**. A certain passage had been underlined with ink:

_Wands with a Phoenix feather core are usually looked upon as ones most unlikely to defy the user. However, what most don't know about these wands is that they can be easily made useless. If the Phoenix that supplied the core of the wand happens to become permanently deceased, the wand will become as lifeless as the bird itself. This is not the case with unicorn hair or dragon heartstring wands—_

Harry's heart had begun to race. He had an instant impulse to run from the room and kill the phoenix that had supplied the feather at the core of Voldemort's wand. But, frowning, he realized that of course that would not be enough. Destroying Voldemort's wand would certainly be helpful for a short time, but his horcruxes would inevitably supply him with some form of life or another, no matter whether he had a wand or not. And another thing…how exactly was one supposed to go about killing a Phoenix? Harry cast aside the thought that the Phoenix he would have to kill would be Fawkes, frowning with the effort. He remembered an incident during his second year at Hogwarts during which he had had the horrible idea that he had killed Fawkes when the bird had burst into flames in his office alone with Harry. But Dumbledore had informed him that Phoenixes were immortal – bursting into flames and continually being born again from the ashes. Harry felt a small pang in his chest and quickly thrust thoughts of Dumbledore aside and directing his attention back at the book, scanning the page for more clues. _Permanently deceased…?_

Then, Harry saw it. There were tiny letters scrawled in cramped script in the margin next to the underlined passage:

_Incendium_

Harry stared at the word, knowing it must be an incantation, but not wanting to try it at the moment – he had already had too much experience in dealing with shouting out curses about which he was unaware of the effects. _Incendium_…it must be the key to something here….Deciding quickly to share his information with Hermione and Ron, Harry shut the book rather more swiftly than he probably should have, for its spine made another threatening splitting noise. Cringing, he cradled the dilapidated book gently under his arm, put out the lamps around the wall, and headed out of the stale room.

**A/N**: Not the most exciting chapter, but hey it moves the plot along some. Chapter fifteen is coming soon…so stick around because it'll be worth a read. Review if you like…the good the bad and the ugly!


	15. The Golden Trio, Interrupted

**A/N: **I haven't really decided on what ships are going to take place in my fic…so for now I just went with it, there might be something of a love triangle at one point, I haven't decided yet. I really want to go with what I assume JKR meant to happen, but I also really want to experiment with a different pairing. Since you can probably assume who is going to be involved in this triangle, I would be grateful for your opinion on this issue. Just fyi: Harry is not involved in this love triangle. Harry 3 Ginny forever:) Read on!

**Chapter 15**

**The Golden Trio, Interrupted**

Harry's legs felt heavy as he climbed the set of stairs up to the second floor landing of Godric's Hollow. The hallway's richly wallpapered walls reflected a small amount of light that was coming from the bedroom several doors down. _Good_, Harry thought. _Hermione's still awake_. Thoughts of what he had read in Myra Murble's book swam through his head as he made his way across the landing and he studied the book as he walked. When he was aware that he was nearing the doorway of the lit room, he tucked the book back under his arm and rounded the corner to enter the room, stopping abruptly.

Hermione was in her room at the foot of the large bed in the center, but she was not alone. Harry spotted Ron's red hair in the room, too, and he thought it odd that they were sitting in silence. But he only gazed at the scene for long enough to see a flash of red hair very close to the bushy brunette…too close. He blinked, slightly mortified that he had walked in at such an untimely moment, and tried to hurry away from the doorway as quietly as possibly as he realised what was going on. Walking down the hallway, Harry flinched as he stepped on a particularly loud and squeaky floorboard and tried to walk even faster before he was caught. But it was too late.

"Harry!" Ron's voice called after him. Harry cringed with embarrassment as he turned to face his friend.

Ron jogged toward him, tripping clumsily over the edge of the large maroon rug that was laid on the smooth wooden floor. He was grinning, his fiery hair disheveled, as he came to a stop in front of Harry. Harry tried his best to look puzzled.

"Why are you looking so happy?" he asked, trying to be convincing, but not meeting Ron's eyes. Ron began to turn pink, but continued to smile sheepishly.

"I dunno, I just—," he began, but Harry cut him off.

"I saw," said Harry, watching Ron's face carefully for any signs of irritation. He had to stop Ron from explaining—he didn't want to hear the details. "Sorry, mate, I didn't mean to, I thought Hermione was alone…and…"

"S'alright," said Ron, still smiling. "I dunno how it happened though, it just…did." And the redhead, though still looking at Harry, seemed lost in his own thoughts, staring straight ahead. Harry, beginning to feel uncomfortable with Ron's odd reverie, was half relieved and half embarrassed when Hermione emerged from the room on the left.

"Oh, Harry," she said, walking toward them. "We were wondering where you'd got to….I read a few books today with some excellent spells in them, I really think you should try and learn them Harry, I think they'd come in useful later on…" She glanced at Ron, then back at Harry and patted her hair disconcertedly.

The discomfited silence continued for a few more moments. Then, before Harry had a chance to make a phony excuse to escape to the third floor bedroom and clear his head, several loud raps from the front door resonated up to the second floor landing, making all three of them jump.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"_Potter?_" repeated Draco incredulously. "Harry Potter? Wow, I can't wait to see what's in store here." His voice was thick with animosity and sarcasm. Snape gave the boy a harsh look, and Draco quickly mumbled, "Sorry, sir. I just don't see how this is going to work."

"Just trust me, Draco. Do you remember everything I said?" Snape asked as they walked quickly though the cool night air. Draco could see several stars in the inky sky through the branches of the trees surrounding them.

"Yes," he said, looking back at the man next to him.

"Good," said Snape softly. "Just do exactly as I told you."

"But, sir…" Draco looked out over the sprawling lawn from behind the trunk of a particularly large maple tree. There were ambiguous figures moving inside as he could see through one of the second story windows.

"And remember," Snape said, reclaiming Draco's attention, "if all three of them aren't at the door when it opens, don't expect me to untransfigure you until they are all there. Remember—your main goal is to convince Potter and company not to kill you as soon as they can."

Draco said nothing, turning his head back toward the enormous house. He squinted at the silhouettes moving in front of the window and sighed. This was the last place on earth he would have expected to have landed himself at.

"Draco!" hissed Snape, staring with hard eyes down at him. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," said Draco, trying to mask the skepticism in his tone.

He held very still as Snape pointed his wand and muttered something very softly. Immediately, Draco felt what was without a doubt the oddest sensation he had ever experienced. It was a tingling feeling over his entire body; suddenly, each of his extremities was rendered useless as he felt himself shrinking into one solid unit. It seemed as though the world was growing around him to mammoth proportions. Snape's hand was three times the size of Draco's entire body as it swooped down upon him, carrying him upward. They were then covered by a vast, silky invisibility cloak, disappearing into the night.

"Remember," Snape muttered in a very hushed voice, "I will Disapparate as soon as I curse them and untransfigure you…so I am expecting you to be able to fend for yourself once I am gone."

At first Draco tried to answer, but, in realizing that rocks did not have mouths, realised that Snape wasn't anticipating a reply from him. He felt distinctly odd, almost nauseous, being cradled in Snape's palm as they made their way undetected down the sprawling lawn. He imagined he felt something like a bug must feel flying above the ground, or a bird, looking down at the dark green rushing beneath him. They steered clear of the stone path leading up to the front door; Draco assumed this was so because Snape didn't wish for their presence to be announced by the tapping of footfalls on the hard surface.

They approached the elaborately carved front doorway, and Draco felt himself being lowered down onto the stone step, blending right in with the rocks around him. He heard Snape reach around and lift the knocker, rapping hard four times. He then must've swiftly stepped around, not too far from the door, judging by the slight rustling of the ivy leaves that were crawling up the brick wall next to the eave.

Within a few a moments Draco heard several pairs of footsteps nearing the door from inside and he breathed a sigh of relief, if rocks did that sort of thing. From the sound of it they were all arriving at the door at once, making his and Snape's job much easier.

And sure enough, the heavy door swung open seconds later, accompanied by three voices.

"_Impedimenta!_"

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Each of their curses flew in different directions. Draco saw the face of Potter, his black hair a mess as usual, glasses crooked, though looking a little more sickly and pallid than he had seen him last. And the mudblood, Granger, her face flushed, and what Draco thought to be an overly confident expression plastered on her face. And of course, the Weasel, adorned with his usual tatty assortment of secondhand clothes, including a pair of faded blue jeans which were several inches too short for him. Draco would have sneered if he could.

Potter was the first to exit the house, the sole of his shoe coming dangerously close to where Draco sat, camouflaged. He stretched his hands out in front of him, groping the empty air like a blind man, and finding nothing. Weasley was next, imitating what Potter had done, as, of course, he had always done in canon. Granger then followed, aiming another curse into the darkness. It hit the trunk of the oak tree some thirty metres away, causing the wood to emit a loud crack and begin to smoke. Then they all stood in silence for a long moment.

"There's no one here," stated Weasley, straining to see into the darkness like an idiot.

"There's got to be," retorted Potter in a low voice. "You heard the knocker as well as I did."

Granger was the first to turn around and head back in through the doorway. Weasley glanced at her and followed, standing next to her a few feet short of the doorstep. Potter frowned into the darkness and, walking backwards, made his way slowly back inside. Draco then heard Snape move behind him and hiss a spell in the quietest of whispers.

"_Petrificus Ultimus!_"

At once, each of the three just inside the doorway froze, each the likeness of a statue. Draco felt himself growing back to his normal size, his arms and legs emerging, function returning to all the parts of his body. Seconds later he heard the loud crack of Disapparation and knew that Snape had left him. He looked ahead of him at the immobile forms of the three people his disliked most in the world…excluding the Dark Lord. He scowled and sidestepped Potter, entering the house and closing the door behind him.

"There we are, Potter," he said, smirking, as he turned the Boy-Who-Lived around so that he was facing the foyer instead of toward the door. "Can't afford not to see your pretty face." Draco stopped for a moment, looking over the trio. He was going to have to cut the sarcasm and sneering remarks if he wanted them to treat him with civility when they regained movement. Weasley rocked precariously on the spot, threatening collapse.

"Listen," Draco began, taking a deep breath, "I'm not here to kill you or trap you or anything like that." He hoped there was sincerity in his voice. "But why should you believe me, right?" Draco pondered for a moment, seating himself on the bottommost step of the elephantine staircase. He figured he might as well tell them everything…after all, what did he have to lose? There was nothing left for him. Both of his parents were dead, Hogwarts was closed, and the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen wanted him dead. "I know you hate me, all three of you. But I'm here to ask your help." Draco's throat tightened as he showed an extremely uncharacteristic display of submission. "I've nowhere to go, nothing left to lose. The Dark Lord…he killed both of my parents."

His stomach twisted itself into an uncomfortable knot as he felt his mouth begin to take off, leaving his brain, and rationality, in the dust. "I'm an orphan now, just like you, Potter, and I never had any idea how much it…I never expected…well I never knew that it would…hurt…so much….But I still know you probably aren't too keen to trust me. Just believe me when I say that I've lost everything, and I wouldn't be here if I hadn't. The Dark Lord wants me dead. I never wanted to kill Dumbledore. I don't think I would have ever been able to, so I guess it's always been my fate to be murdered. Watch." Draco removed his wand from the pocket of his cloak and threw it across the cavernous foyer. It landed with a wooden _plunk_, and slid straight underneath a large curio that sat in the far corner; Draco felt his pulse quicken a bit, feeling slightly horrified. "See? No wand, no protection. I'm alone. I've got nothing to live for anymore, but I'm doing my best to keep myself alive. I figure it's what my mother would have wanted…she wouldn't have liked it if I'd just given up and let myself be killed."

Draco let silence fill the room for a moment. He thought about what to say next. _"Remember—your main goal is to convince Potter and company not to kill you as soon as they can."_ Snape's words came back to him, and he thought he might as well go all the way to try and keep Potter from jinxing him on the spot.

"Listen…this isn't school anymore. This is the real world. I'm sorry for…well, for everything I did back at Hogwarts…acting like a prat and all that…" He trailed off, realising that he had been speaking through clenched teeth, with his hands balled into fists. He relaxed them straight away, hoping that his body language didn't give away the fact that he really wasn't all that sorry, and what he would like most at the moment would be to give each of them a good, hard kick in the shins.

But Draco's time for persuasion had been short lived. Potter was the first to regain enough movement in his limbs to raise his wand.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

For the second time that evening, Draco felt his limbs submit to immobility.

**A/N: **-shrug- I tried to do my best to keep Draco in character, though I'm not sure he'd actual say some of those things…oh well. Review if you please: the good, the bad, and the ugly!


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